Clue in the Mystery
by LKY
Summary: Jim and Blair investigate a skeleton found in a wall.


'I can do this.'  
  
'I can do this.'  
  
The mantra sang like a chorus in Blair Sandburg's head as he drove through the dark, rain-drenched streets of Cascade. He wondered if the rainstorm was messing with his head, turning the alleys into entrances to sinister caves. The buildings looked empty and foreboding. Even the cars parked along the sides of the street seemed out of place. If he didn't know for sure, he'd think he was lost.   
  
The light at the next intersection turned yellow and he cursed. No way was he going to make it through in time, even if he floored it. Yet stopping meant shifting. And shifting meant moving his right arm.   
  
He slowed until his engine lugged. Checking both directions and seeing only empty streets, he rolled through the red light, visibly cringing.   
  
"Sorry, Jim. Promise to stop twice next time I'm in the area," he said, aware no one was with him, but needing to hear something other than the rain hitting the roof of his car.  
  
Only three blocks left.  
  
'Yes! Houston, we have splashdown.'  
  
Blair carefully locked his Corvair, hugging his right arm close to his ribs. Forced to keep his walk slow due to the pain, he was soaked by the time he reached the lobby. The elevator carried him to the third floor and he homed in on the door bearing the numbers 307. The key wouldn't go in for a few seconds and Blair bit back another curse. He was already well over his self allotment of swear words for the day, for the week actually. Besides, he'd wake his roommate.  
  
Finally the key slid in and Blair was home. The loft smelled like garlic and… ah, Jim had made spaghetti. It was a crime to miss his spaghetti dinner. Any other night, Blair would have been head and shoulders in the old-fashioned refrigerator praying for leftovers, but not tonight. Even though his stomach growled, demanding food, all Blair wanted was his futon.  
  
Getting undressed for bed proved to be difficult and painful. Blair gave up after shedding his jeans, outer coat and flannel shirt. Beads of sweat broke out on his wide forehead. Carefully he rolled into bed, just managing to wrap up in the bedspread. Outside the fall night was dark and chilly. Normally Blair would burrow under the collection of wool blankets piled on his bed. Tonight, he didn't care if the thermometer dipped into the teens, he wasn't moving till morning.  
  
-----------------  
  
It wasn't clear to Jim what pulled him out of his sleep. His internal clock placed the time somewhere around three in the morning. He could hear Mr. Schmidt moving around in his apartment across the hall, getting ready for work. What kind of person lives more than an hour's drive from work, anyway? Talk about spending your life in traffic.  
  
But Schmidt wasn't the reason Jim was blinking at the raindrops hitting the skylight overhead. He could sleep through all the normal apartment-dwelling noises without a problem. Blair once said Jim had the ability to subconsciously register and dismiss all the sounds that belonged.   
  
So what didn't belong?  
  
There it was - Jim lifted his head, listening.  
  
Blair was moaning. Not the moan of a man enjoying a dream, either.   
  
Tossing back his blanket, Jim snagged his robe as he headed for the stairs. He knew Blair had pulled a late-nighter at Rainier. They'd talked briefly on the cell phone while Jim had driven home after work. He'd said something about having to rewrite a paper at the last minute.   
  
Jim navigated the sparsely furnished loft in the dark with ease. Another soft pain-filled moan broke as he parted the curtains and entered his spare storage room-turned-bedroom. Blair was on his side, back facing the doorway.  
  
There was a time Jim would have flipped on a light, grumbled a curt complaint about being woken up and stomped back up the stairs before his roommate fully awoke.   
  
To quote the classics, 'That was then – this is now.'  
  
Pupils dilated beyond normal capacity, Jim leaned over his friend and assessed his condition. Blair was sleeping in a long sleeve thermal shirt; his long hair wet. He placed a hand over Blair's forehead, picking up a slight fever, nothing critical, just higher than normal. He'd gone to sleep on top of his blankets, which was another anomaly. Just his bedspread covered his hips and legs. What really didn't fit was the way Blair was hugging his right arm close. Normally, when Jim came home and found the younger man asleep on the couch, usually wearing headphones, both hands were flung out or up over his head.  
  
Another moan sounded, regular as clockwork. Jim watched Blair unconsciously move his left hand towards his right arm, just below his elbow. Keeping his touch light, Jim ran fingers down Blair's right arm.  
  
It was swollen.  
  
"Blair… wake up." Jim gently shook his hip. "Come on. Rise and shine."  
  
"Whaa? J'm… 'zup?"   
  
"Your body temperature for one thing," Jim said. "What's wrong with your arm?"  
  
Blair started to move his right hand towards his face, then curled his body into a ball with a groan, cradling his arm with his left hand. "Ohhh… sonofa…"  
  
Jim waited, getting impatient when no information was forthcoming.  
  
"Sandburg? Care to elaborate? What did you do to your arm?"  
  
"Nothing, man," Blair said, obviously doing his best not to look in pain. "It's just a bruise."  
  
"Riiighht." Jim stretched out a hand to check the distal pulse, just above Blair's right thumb.  
  
Blair flinched as if burned.  
  
"Easy, I'm just going to take a look."   
  
"It's nothing. Just a little accident," Blair insisted, his voice rough from sleep. "Go 'way."  
  
But Jim had the injured arm captured with both hands now, and Blair wasn't up to pulling free. Something was not right, Jim realized as he felt along the two long bones between the wrist and the elbow.  
  
"Shit! You broke your arm!"  
  
"Nooooo!" Blair moaned pathetically, kicking his leg straight in denial. "It can't be. I don't have time for a broken arm!"  
  
Jim turned the arm loose and stood, running a hand over his face in exasperation. Leave it to Blair. Like ignoring an injury could make it go away. "When did this happen?"  
  
"Go back to bed, Jim," Blair ordered weakly. "It's only bruised. I'll ice it in the morning." He had rolled onto his back now, his 'not-broken' arm lying across his chest, cradled protectively by his left arm. His face was lined with pain.  
  
Jim flipped on the lamp by his bed. "Get up, Evel Knievel. We're going to the hospital."  
  
"Jim…"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Blair blinked a few times, adjusting to the light before focusing on his friend above him. "Can we like… talk about this?"  
  
"Sure." Jim hooked a finger under the blue jean puddle on the floor and held them up. "On the way to Cascade General."  
  
-----------------  
  
"Blair Sandburg?" The male nurse stood next to the nurse's station, clipboard in hand.  
  
Blair unfurled from his chair. The waiting room was busy for three-thirty in the morning. A mother with a sick child had arrived about ten minutes after them. The kid looked like he had the flu. A heavyset man with a smoker's cough that rattled the windows had already gone back into a treatment room.  
  
"This way, please."  
  
Blair shuffled after the man, pain sending Morse code messages up his arm and shoulder with every step.  
  
Jim followed right behind and Blair felt like snapping an order telling him to 'sit' and 'stay.' But he didn't. It wasn't Jim's fault he'd broken his arm. And he knew it had broken the minute he'd heard it snap and felt the familiar pain. Just like the time he'd fallen out of that tree. He'd just hoped he was wrong.  
  
Blair managed to perch on the exam table, waiting as Jim gave a medical rundown in his usual efficient narration-style: brief and to the point. He should resent the way the older man seemed to talk on his behalf, but couldn't summons up enough energy to even get irritated. What was it Naomi used to tell him? It took less strength to think happy thoughts, so why work so hard?  
  
The nurse, an older man with a single braid down his back, nodded as he wrapped Blair's left bicep in a cuff and hit a button that began to flow air and take a reading of his blood pressure. "We'll notify the lab that you'll be coming up for an X-ray. Open please."  
  
Blair accepted the thermometer under his tongue, thinking about Jim's description of the break. It occurred to him that Jim not only could not only feel the break, but knew exactly which of the two bones were broken. Wow. What if Jim had picked medicine over law enforcement? He'd have been an awesome doctor or even a surgeon. With his sense of touch and practice, he could become the …  
  
"Sandburg." Jim was sounding exasperated again. "Did you hear the question?"  
  
Blair shook his head and the nurse repeated himself. "Are you on any medications?" When Blair shook his head again, the nurse continued down a long list of questions, looking up to see if Blair's head moved side to side or up and down. Finally, they were through and the thermometer was removed. After making a notation on his chart, the nurse headed for the doorway, telling them the doctor would be right in.  
  
Jim was leaning against a stainless steel counter. "So, how'd this happen?"  
  
Blair shrugged. "Well, I was in my office…"  
  
"Okay, I understand you might have a broken arm." A large woman swept into the room, reminding Blair of a grandmother on speed. "Let's take a look."  
  
She moved fast for her age and size. Blair yelped as she prodded the swollen limb and grunted. "Move your fingers… that the best you can do? Here, squeeze my hand. Humph, off to X-Ray, young man. Frank's got your wheelchair waiting."  
  
Blair found himself being pushed down the white corridor towards the bank of elevators.  
  
"Was that the doctor?"   
  
Frank laughed. "Oh yeah, believe me. No one sits around twiddling their thumbs on this shift."  
  
When the first light of dawn reached the wet streets of Cascade, Blair was sporting a white cast from his finger tips to just below his shoulder. He sighed gloomily as he waited for Jim to open the passenger side door. Tossing the bag of prescription medication onto the floorboard, he clumsily climbed in.  
  
He was so screwed.  
  
"Thanks, Jim," Blair said as they drove out of the parking lot.  
  
"You're welcome. You'd better call the university. You're not going to feel like working for a few days."  
  
Letting his head fall back against his seat, Blair considered his options. He could phone in, in fact, this might get him an extension he needed on that stupid paper that he'd been forced to rewrite last night. The one his computer had somehow messed up, or maybe it was a case of a bad disk. Whatever the cause, it resulted in starting over from scratch and the second draft just didn't measure up to the first.   
  
"Maybe I'll call the department head and let him know, then call my advisor," Blair admitted slowly.  
  
"You never got a chance to tell me how you broke your arm," Jim reminded him. The rain fell with increased intensity. Jim changed the wiper setting from intermittent to constant.  
  
"Oh." Blair adjusted the sling, already hating the way it bit into his neck. "Well, it was actually kind of embarrassing…"  
  
Jim's cell phone rang.  
  
"Hold that thought… Ellison."   
  
Blair listened in, recognizing that Jim was getting information about a new case, probably by Simon. Jim got that furrow between his eyebrows whenever he listened to something less than pleasant. And judging by the way the cop was dropping the corners of his mouth into a frown, it didn't sound good.  
  
"Okay… yeah, I know where it's at…ah," He glanced over at Blair. "No, make that an hour. I need to run Sandburg back to the loft first."  
  
Blair shook his head, waving his good arm in the air in a cutting motion. "No, man. I'm good to go."  
  
"Hold on a sec, Simon." Jim pulled the truck over to the shoulder and pressed the small cell phone against his shirt. "Chief, you've just had a broken arm set, you should rest. Not follow me around at a new crime scene."  
  
"I'm fine," Blair insisted. "Come on, Jim. Time's a wasting."  
  
The furrow deepened. "Okay, but I'm not running you home halfway through this investigation. You better be sure you're one hundred percent."  
  
"Just tell Simon we're on our way," Blair ordered, making shooing motions with his left hand.  
  
-----------------  
  
The rain was falling hard as Jim parked his truck next to a marked patrol car. Rummaging around behind his seat, he pulled out a battered Jags cap and handed it to his partner.   
  
"Thanks." Blair set it firmly on his head, doing a fair job of hiding the fact he'd never combed his hair that morning.  
  
Jim eyed the building he'd been told to report to. Cinderblock exterior walls with a flat roof, it looked ready to be torn down. Judging by the heavy equipment on location, someone had given orders to do just that. Faint letters were still visible on the side of the building facing the street: Cascade Valley Rendering Company. The parking lot was hard dirt, soon to become mud.  
  
"Looks like a hold over from when the area was a big ranching and farming community," Blair noted, eyeing the dilapidated structure.   
  
Jim nodded, seeing the new housing tracts being built on all sides of the old property. "More good farming soil buried under concrete and asphalt. They're probably planning to put up a shopping center." He opened the door, visually planning the quickest route through the mud puddles to the main entrance. "Try not to slip and break your other arm, Sandburg. See you inside."  
  
Jim made the shelter of the small overhang without becoming soaked. Opening the door, he wasn't prepared for the heavy wave of death in the air.  
  
"…-ome on, Jim. Now's not the time! I can't hold you up right now."   
  
Blair sounded desperate. Jim's brain sent an urgent message to his legs. 'Get to work and stand straight.' He could feel Blair's left arm was around his ribs, the only thing keeping him from sliding down to the concrete.  
  
"Jim? Dude, work with me here," Blair said in a quiet, yet insistent, voice.  
  
"Sorry, Chief." Jim managed to get his knees to lock and find his balance. His hand flew to his nose as he backed away from Blair, the doorway, and the god-awful stench pouring out from inside.   
  
"What's wrong? What caused your zone?" Blair followed him into the rain.  
  
"Can't you smell that?" Jim asked. "Shit, it's like a thousand years of death in there."  
  
"Oh, man! Of course, it's a meat processing plant. With your nose… you've got to turn it down, Jim. Breathe through your mouth for a while," Blair said.  
  
Jim pinched his nose, fighting the urge to gag. If this is what being a sentinel entailed, he wanted out. "I can't."  
  
"Yes, you can!" Blair insisted. "You think a tribal sentinel never happened upon an animal carcass before? Just let your natural ability kick in, you'll adjust. I swear."  
  
Standing in the pouring rain, Jim shot Blair a look of disbelief. Blair held his own, virtually radiating confidence in his hypothesis. It did make sense, actually.   
  
"You can, Jim. Don't let your first reaction take you out of the game."  
  
Jim released his nose. He could either go in there or stand out here and continue to get soaked. "You sure?"  
  
"Yep. Now, come on, before I get the urge to build an ark."  
  
This time when Jim opened the door, prepared to get hit with the wall of stench, it wasn't as bad. He made sure to breathe through his mouth. A uniformed cop was waiting for them inside. The front of the building had been set up for offices. Broken sheetrock and fractured glass littered the floor. Everything of value looked like it was being removed for possible reuse.   
  
"Detectives?" A female cop stood, her hand comfortably resting on her holstered sidearm.  
  
"Ellison, Major Crime." Jim flipped open his ID. "This is Blair Sandburg."  
  
She nodded. "Amanda Vasser. The body's back here." She turned to lead the way. "The construction crew was working on a back wall when they spotted it. They stopped and called 911. We haven't touched anything."   
  
The office cubicles opened up to a large room. It appeared to be where the butchering took place. Metal tracks with sliding hooks ran along the ceiling. The floor changed from dingy carpet to rough concrete.   
  
Jim concentrated on breathing through his mouth. Judging by the cop's expression, she didn't appear to be smelling anything foul. This had to be his sentinel senses acting up. Blair was right. He just needed his brain to tell his nose to back off.   
  
"Here it is." She pointed to a section of an exterior wall. A male cop, presumably Vasser's partner, stood nearby.  
  
The sheetrock had been torn down from the wooden studs, exposing the inside of the wall. Fine dirt covered everything, even the cobwebs inside. The insulation Jim would have expected to see was missing.   
  
"Oh…man." Blair shuddered a little and looked away.  
  
The skeleton was slumped sideways, his pelvic bone resting on the wall's floor, held upright by close proximity of the two-by-four studs running vertical on either side. Enough dried tissue had remained to keep the spine and skull attached. Jim could see small, unattached bones with tiny rodent-sized chew marks were scattered about on the floor inside the wall.  
  
Slipping on his crime scene gloves, his eyes caught a glint of metal around what used to be the body's neck. He reached into the folds of an old black rain coat and found a gold chain. Using his fingers to carefully lift it out of the musty smelling clothing, he discovered a small gold crucifix.   
  
Damn, he was hoping for some medical ID tag. Wishful thinking.   
  
The white collar of the body's shirt under the raincoat caught his attention. He opened up the raincoat to get a better look.  
  
"Holy Mother of God!" Vasser exclaimed quietly. "A priest!"  
  
Jim looked up at the skull, noting the small hole in the skull, above the dual sockets that seemed to stare back mournfully from the skeleton's unusual grave.   
  
Who would shoot a priest?  
  
Jim shook his head, thinking of the work and fanfare this case promised; a murdered priest - wonderful. He couldn't remember hearing about a missing priest. Either this was a very old murder or it happened somewhere else and they had picked this building to hide the body.   
  
"Let's get a forensic team down here," Jim said. "Where's the crew that opened the wall?"  
  
"Outside. They've got a portable trailer set up behind the building, they're waiting inside," the male cop told him.  
  
They had a long day ahead of them. Jim mentally organized the different tasks that needed to be done. He needed to call Simon and warn him. Once the word got out, every paper from the New York Times to the National Enquirer was likely to splash it across their front page.  
  
-----------------  
  
Every time Blair thought the pain in his arm was getting to be too much, he'd look over at that wall. At least he could feel pain. The wall no longer housed the skeleton in priest's clothing. Dan Wolfe had personally attended this crime scene. Captain Simon Banks had also stopped in on his way to a meeting. Blair felt like selling tickets. The skeleton had been photographed, measured, and marked before being transferred to a special box and carried away. It had taken the team of specialists hours and Blair had to admire the obvious care they took to document their findings.  
  
The construction workers were gone now. Interviews completed, they'd all left, grim faced and subdued. Blair wasn't sure if they were angry over the fact someone had died or because the job was on hold, maybe a little of both.  
  
An upside down, empty five-gallon bucket made a poor seat and Blair shifted a little as he waited, trying to ignore the pain coming from inside the cast. He watched Jim talk with one of the remaining forensic technicians. He didn't seem to be having any more problems with the smell. Blair had noted a musty odor at first, but nothing like what Jim must have experienced. It was just plain incredible. Every time Blair got a glimpse of Jim's range of abilities, it blew him away. What would Jim be like years from now, after the advantages of training and experience?   
  
"Ready to leave?"  
  
Blair came back to earth and blinked up at the object of his musings. "We're done?"  
  
"Yep," Jim said with almost an indulgent expression as he captured Blair's good elbow and helped him to his feet. "We've missed breakfast and lunch. How about we swing by Paolo's for an early dinner?"  
  
Blair liked that plan, a lot. "Yeah, I could eat. Then, maybe you could drop me off at Rainier? I should at least be there for my office hours and get a few things squared away."  
  
Jim didn't look very happy. "What you should do is take a pain pill and rest at home. I still need to go down to the station, but I can swing by the loft and drop you off."  
  
Blair had to smile. Jim used the word home. Even though they'd talked during the last few weeks and it was clear Blair could stay on, it still felt strange. For the last ten years, Blair had used words like dorm, warehouse and even 'crashing on the couch'; he couldn't remember the last time he'd heard the word 'home'.  
  
Maybe… never?  
  
"I'm fine, man. And I really, really need to do this. If I'm lucky, I can get the next two days cleared and help you with this case," Blair told him as they walked through the building back towards the entrance.  
  
"Okay, first food, then Rainier."   
  
"Thanks, I'll catch a bus back when I'm done."  
  
"No, call me. I'll pick you up."  
  
"You don't have to do that."  
  
"It's no big deal, Sandburg. Just call my cell phone."  
  
"Right," Blair said. Having a home seemed to come with his own personal six-foot-plus walking conscience.   
  
-----------------  
  
Jim parked under a streetlight. Rainier was deserted. The rain had been consistent all day, filling the gutters and moving around the dead leaves till they blocked the storm drains. Deep pools of dirty water lined the edges of the road. Savvy pedestrians stayed clear, knowing thoughtless drivers would send large rooster-tails of cold water across the sidewalks as they drove by.  
  
He caught sight of a familiar shape heading towards the truck, shoulders rounded as he walked. Blair's hair was soaked when he climbed in with awkward movements.   
  
"Hey."  
  
"Where's that cap I gave you this morning?" Jim asked, turning up the heater before pulling out of the parking lot.   
  
"It's safe," Blair assured him. "It's locked in my office."  
  
That wasn't the point Jim was trying to make. It should be on his friend's head. How could someone with so many degrees be so dense at times? He chanced a quick glance over to see Blair sitting unnaturally still; his head tilted back, eyes closed in exhaustion as his left hand fumbled unsuccessfully for the seatbelt hanging by his right shoulder. Jim gently stopped the truck, reached over his friend and pulled the belt out to click the buckle into place.  
  
Blair never even opened his eyes.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Welcome. How's the arm?"   
  
Blair cracked one eye open and peered in Jim's direction. "Sore, man. Very sore. How's the investigation going?"  
  
"Slowly. We found a grocery receipt in the victim's pocket. Dated three months ago."  
  
"Any ID?"  
  
"None. Except for the receipt and a few beads, all the pockets were empty." Jim slowed the truck as they neared a miniature lake newly formed in the intersection ahead. This was going to be a deep one. The water briefly touched the undercarriage before they got through. Jim tapped the brakes lightly without thinking, to dry the brake shoes. "We know the body was a man. Dan thinks he might be young. I've called the local churches in town, put out a few feelers to see if anyone's missing a priest. Left some messages. Did you take any pain medication?"  
  
"Nah, I'm going to try some tea when we get home," Blair said around a wide yawn. "Got the next two days off. But still have some office hours on Friday. So I can help with the case. I'm surprised a body can become a skeleton in only three months. I thought it took longer."  
  
"You're probably thinking about bodies buried underground or submerged under water. That takes longer," Jim explained. "Temperature is the biggie with decomposition. That and animals. In fact, a lot of things come into play. Flies probably did the first damage by laying eggs inside the body. Their larva will eat most of the organs and tissue. I understand the maggots can hatch and grow within the first day. We had some warm days in August and September. The fact the body was wearing clothes also speeds up the process. And your new age tea is not going to begin to touch the pain you're in, Sandburg."  
  
"I'm not in pain, Jim. I'm just tired," Blair insisted. "And wet… and cold. I was hungry, but your little verbal walk through the land of pathology took care of that."  
  
Jim chuckled. "So, dinner at Tony Roma's is out, huh? Too bad, I was hunkering for some of those ribs."  
  
That comment drew a long groan from the other man. "I think I just became a vegetarian, Jim. Way to go."  
  
Once they arrived back at the loft, Blair headed for his room. Jim took a second to fill the kettle with water, light the stove and crank up the heat in the loft before knocking on the doorframe to Blair's bedroom. "Need a hand?"  
  
Blair was standing in a pair of gray sweatpants, his jeans already kicked into a far corner, his damp shirt up over his head. He looked stuck. Jim took the hem of his roommate's Henley and gently finished pulling it up, freeing his head. They worked the shirt off over his cast as a team. Blair's face was white from pain; fine lines marred his normally cheerful expression.   
  
"How about soup?" Jim asked.  
  
Blair was shivering as he lifted a heavy sweatshirt out of a pile of clothes sitting in a laundry basket on the floor. Jim didn't wait for permission as they repeated the process in reverse.   
  
"Nah, I'm just going to crawl under these covers and crash," Blair told him, heading for the futon.  
  
"Wait, at least dry your hair." Jim picked up an off-white towel from the same basket and waited for permission to proceed.  
  
A corner of Blair's mouth lifted a little in a tired smile. "You some kind of rich man's butler in a previous life? Okay, bring it on," he invited as he sat on the edge of the mattress.  
  
Jim tossed the towel over the wet locks and began to briskly rub. "You're going to be bad enough with a busted arm, let's not add a head cold," Jim teased.  
  
Blair's hair was reasonably dry again. Jim covered his pillow with the towel before lifting the blankets. Blair crawled into bed with a groan.  
  
"What about that tea?" Jim asked.  
  
"Too tired, I'll drink it in the morning," Blair answered, his eyes already closed.  
  
"Suit yourself, Sandburg." He turned off the light as he left. "Good night."  
  
"Night, man… and thanks."  
  
-----------------  
  
The next morning the rain was still coming down, like a visiting cousin that refused to leave. Jim kept his speed slower than normal as he drove through the quiet, prestigious neighborhood on the north side of Cascade called Elk Wood Heights. Enormous homes built to resemble English Tudors were visible through wrought iron gates and perfectly trimmed hedges.   
  
"Wow, I wonder what a house like that costs?" Blair asked, pointing at a particularly large mansion.   
  
"I have a feeling just the yearly property tax would clean out my savings," Jim admitted. These places made his old man's house look like a shack. He spotted a spindly peaked roof in the distance. "There's the church."  
  
"So, they reported a missing priest?" Blair asked.  
  
"Yep."  
  
"How come no official report was made?"  
  
"Don't know. That's on my list of 'to ask' questions, Chief," Jim admitted, silently amused with Blair's cop-like question. It was the very first thing he'd wondered when he'd taken the call. He pulled into a small parking lot next to a large stone and brick church with ornate stained glass windows over two stories high. English ivy climbed the walls.   
  
After climbing the stone steps to the tall wooden doors, they found them locked. Spotting a small sign low on the wall with an arrow and the word office, Jim nudged his partner's shoulder and headed off. They located a smaller unlocked door that led them into a bright office-looking room. A young woman wearing a long broomstick skirt and peasant blouse greeted them with a smile. She wore her long brown hair in a single braid down her back and no makeup.  
  
"May I help you?" she asked, looking up from her typing. Jim noticed pictures of exotic vacation destinations scotch taped to her work station and on her computer. They looked like the type someone might cut from a magazine.   
  
"We're here to see Father Clark," Jim explained, holding his badge and ID out. "I'm Detective Jim Ellison, this is Blair Sandburg."  
  
"Oh… certainly. I'll just see if he's available." She stood, nearly matching Jim's height and disappeared through a back door, only to return a few minutes later. "He'll see you both, please come in."  
  
A white-haired man with a friendly smile stood as Jim and Blair entered. He shook Jim's hand, his smile diminishing to a grimace of sympathy as he noticed Blair's arm. "Oh my, that looks painful."  
  
Blair gave him a slight smile. "It's nothing really. Looks worse than it actually is."  
  
"Well, that's good. Please, sit down. Would you like some coffee?"  
  
Before Jim could decline, Blair was accepting and the old man was out from behind his desk, fiddling with coffee filters and grinding beans. Jim made a mental note to talk to Blair. Although the priest was in no way a suspect, they were still investigating a murder. It was too early in the case to know who the players were. Jim preferred to keep his interviews to the point, absent of the social practices and customs.   
  
"Coffee is my one indulgence from God, I think," the old man admitted as he measured whole beans into a mill and turned the dial.   
  
Jim steeled himself for the sound of the beans as they were crushed; a sound that he never did enjoy. He looked around the office while he waited. The floor was wood, lovingly waxed. The large desk was placed in front of a stained glass window, so the priest sat with the light to his back. The other three walls were made up entirely of bookshelves. Books of all sizes lined the shelves, looking well cared for. Most books displayed titles on their spines that related to the church or studies of the Bible. After the coffee was started, the priest returned to his seat.   
  
"Father Clark, we understand you had another priest who worked with you during the summer," Jim began.  
  
"That's correct, detective." A frown appeared briefly on the priest's face. "Father Nathan. He was with us for six months before he left."  
  
Jim shifted in the leather chair. "Left? Where did he go?"  
  
The old man looked trapped for a moment, then gently pulled on his earlobe as he answered. "To be perfectly frank, I don't know."  
  
"So it wasn't a planned trip?" Blair asked.  
  
"No. To my knowledge, he told no one of his plans to leave."  
  
"Isn't that rather odd? Why didn't you contact the police?" Jim asked.  
  
Father Clark stood, went to the door and closed it all the way, then moved to check on his coffee. "I did report his absence to the Bishop. I wanted to go to the police, but was instructed not to."   
  
The coffee was filling rapidly and Father Clark removed the carafe from its holder to pour two cups. Some sort of internal plug must have kicked in, because only one drip of coffee hit the burner and sizzled until it disappeared. The faint odor of burnt coffee reached Jim's nose.   
  
"What about his friends?" Blair asked.  
  
"Father Nathan was new to Cascade. I'm afraid I don't know much about him. None of his family is alive, that I was able to find, anyway."  
  
"So you did investigate," Jim noted.  
  
"Yes." Father Clark set the two coffee cups on the edge of his desk. Blair's had a logo for the Smithsonian Museum and Jim's had a picture of Mickey Mouse. "I even went to his apartment. I got the manager to let me in and found his personal things missing. I had to assume he left. It's not the first time a young man was unable to follow through with his calling."  
  
"How old was Father Nathan?" Jim asked.  
  
"Twenty- seven. He moved here from Kansas. He may have gone back for all I know."  
  
The skeleton, according to Dan Wolf, was of a man whose age was anywhere from twenty-five to thirty-five, so Father Nathan fit. Jim took a sip of his coffee. He couldn't hide his amazement from his host's observation. The old man smiled faintly.  
  
"One hundred per cent Kona, from Hawaii. One of my parishioners owns a house there. He brings me a supply once a month," the priest explained.  
  
"It's very good, thank you," Jim replied automatically. He couldn't shake the feeling the old man was not being completely honest with him. When he talked about anything other than the missing priest, he seemed normal. But when he spoke of Father Nathan, the old man's heart rate picked up and his face seemed to darken slightly. The priest would never be a very good liar; his body seemed to tattle on him. "So, officially, you and the church did all you could. What about unofficial? Don't you have some idea why a twenty-seven year old man would up and disappear?"  
  
Father Clark was busy pouring his own cup of coffee, his back to the two men sitting in his office. "No… I'm baffled."  
  
"When was the last time you saw him?" Jim asked.  
  
The old man returned to his desk, coffee in hand and checked a black book on his desk, flipping a few pages before answering. "We had a meeting… the second Monday in August. I think that may have been the last time. He didn't show on the following Saturday evening for mass."  
  
It was time to lay all the cards on the table. "We found a body yesterday. Unfortunately, we'll have to wait until we can match his dental records. But the man was wearing a priest's collar when he died."  
  
The coffee cup trembled in the old man's hand, spilling large drops onto the hardwood floor. The priest hurriedly set the mug down. "Oh… this is terrible… I never imagined he was dead."  
  
"Jim!" Blair jumped up, nodding his head urgently.  
  
The old man looked suddenly feeble and Jim sprang out of his seat to assist before he fell. "Easy, sir. Let's sit you back down." He guided the priest back to his chair; with Blair taking the man's other arm. "I'm sorry, I know this is hard. Father Nathan appears to be the only missing priest in the area for the time frame we're looking at."  
  
"But… he was… why… none of this makes any sense," Father Clark muttered as he sank back into his office chair with Jim's help.  
  
"We're not saying for sure the body is Father Nathan. But in light of what you've told us, we need more information," Jim explained.  
  
Blair hovered at Jim's side. "Can we get you something, sir? Water?"  
  
"No, no." Father Clark sat up straight, visibly pulling his emotions in. He reached for a string of beads on his desk and began to absentmindedly finger them as he spoke. "Forgive me, it's just the shock. I never imagined this was the reason he left." He squared his shoulders, pinning Jim with a determined look. "What do you need to make sure?"  
  
Jim pulled Blair back and they returned to their seats. "Well, for starters, we need the name of Father Nathan's dentist."  
  
The old priest grimaced as if in pain, but nodded. "I'll have my secretary get his file."  
  
-----------------  
  
Blair adjusted his arm, trying to relieve the pressure on his neck.  
  
"Here." Keeping his eyes on the road as he drove, Jim reached one long arm behind the front seats of his Ford and pulled out an extra winter coat he stored for emergencies. "Roll it up. Rest your cast on it."  
  
"Thanks." Blair clumsily rolled the garment up with his left hand until it was bulky enough to raise his injured arm, relieving the pressure on his neck. "Ahhhh, that's better. So, what do you think? Is the skeleton Father Nathan?"  
  
Jim shrugged. "No point in speculating until we match the dental records. Simon should get that subpoena after lunch. We'll pick up the film and bring it to Dan personally."  
  
Blair nodded, looking down at the picture the priest had given him. Father Nathan had been photographed unaware. He was standing in front of an outside grill somewhere. A light blue apron covered his dark shirt and pants. He wore the typical priest collar, maybe the same one he had died in. The man held a long spatula in his right hand and was smiling into the camera. He looked like a young Jim, tall and strong. "Is it just me, or was Father Clark not telling us the entire truth. He acted like he had his own theory why Father Nathan left. But he didn't share."  
  
Jim huffed. "We'll make a cop out of you yet, Sandburg."  
  
"So you agree? Did you pick something up when we talked to him?" Blair asked.  
  
"Maybe, he was having a hard time controlling his heart rate and he got a little flushed when he said he didn't know why Nathan left."  
  
"He wasn't the only one with the racing heart, man," Blair said lightly. "You made a hit with the secretary, too. What was her name? Cindy?"  
  
Jim rolled his eyes and shot a glare at his companion, before returning to his task of driving through the current downpour. Blair had to smile, remembering the way the secretary had sized up Jim with her eyes. Not that the woman wasn't attractive in her own way, she just wasn't the type Blair had seen Jim take an interest in.  
  
"So, where we going?" Blair asked.  
  
"I want to check out Father Nathan's address," Jim answered.   
  
They found the apartment complex and had to park three blocks away. Both sides of the street were lined with old cars, some with flat tires. Parking appeared to be a premium commodity in the neighborhood. Either everyone took a bus to work or they didn't have jobs at all.  
  
Unable to stand the pain in his arm when he jogged to keep up, Blair was forced to follow Jim at a slower pace, becoming soaked in the process. He felt his hair grow heavy with moisture and mentally kicked himself for not wearing a coat with a hood or even Jim's borrowed hat. He caught up to Jim just as the door to the manager's office was opened by a heavyset woman wearing purple sweats. A small overhang above offered them protection from the weather.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I'm Detective Ellison. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg." Jim waited patiently as the woman scrutinized the leather case that held his ID and badge. She wore glasses and kept tilting her head up and down like a person getting used to new bifocals. "We're interested in looking at the apartment Father Nathan rented? Number 211?"  
  
She nodded, seemingly satisfied with Jim's identity. "That's right. But he doesn't live there anymore. I had to list it again."  
  
"We understand, ma'am." Jim tucked his ID back in his jacket. "Has anyone rented it?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Can we look around?" Jim asked.  
  
"He's the skeleton that was found in that old building, wasn't he?" she exclaimed loudly in stunned disbelief.   
  
What? Blair paused in squeezing the water from his hair. How in the world did this woman find out?  
  
"I just saw it on the news!" she continued, opening her door a little wider and pointing to a TV set in the corner. "They said it was wearing a priest collar and some construction guys found it inside a wall. That was my tenant?"  
  
Jim held up a hand to still the woman. "Ma'am, we don't have the identity established yet. We're just following up on a few leads. Do you think we could look at that apartment?"  
  
She disappeared for a few moments to get her keys and Jim exchanged a sour look with Blair. "Just perfect, the press got wind."  
  
Blair tagged along behind as she led them up a narrow flight of concrete stairs and along an exposed balcony. The building was dreary, with the paint peeling in large flakes and weathered looking doors. The woman walked as if every step was an Olympic event. Layers of body fat rolled and jiggled under the purple cloth. She was breathing heavily by the time she paused at a door and unlocked it with her key. She flipped on a light switch before walking inside.  
  
"An old guy came by." She took a breath. "I let him in. He said they worked together." Another breath and Blair wondered if she smoked. "Didn't find anything. This furniture comes with the apartment." She waved a hand at a beat up gold and brown plaid couch and a dark green upholstered rocker as if showing the place off to perspective renters.   
  
Blair watched Jim walk through the small apartment, disappearing into a back bedroom and returning a few seconds later. The kitchen was tiny, about the size of a closet. Nothing had been left out. No food had been left in the cupboards and the refrigerator was turned off.  
  
"You've had the placed cleaned?" Jim asked.  
  
"I did it myself. Kept his deposit, too." She stuck her multiple chins up in the air slightly as if she expected either man to rebuke her. "I had to get the place ready to rent again."  
  
Jim nodded, his eyes searching the living room again. "I'd like to look around if that's okay. We promise to lock up when we're done."  
  
"I don't know if I should." She scratched her plump wrist with purple fingernails. "I guess so. Just don't go making a mess, okay?"  
  
"We promise. Thanks."   
  
After the woman left, Jim started on the sofa, pulling up the cushions to search underneath. "If she cleaned, it was just to run a few swipes with a vacuum." He reached in with a hand.  
  
"Whatcha got?" Blair asked.  
  
"Seventy three cents and a receipt from a restaurant," Jim said, standing straight and reading the print on the slip of paper. "Gethro's."  
  
"Never heard of it," Blair said.  
  
Jim looked around the room. "Let's finish going over the apartment first, then go check it out."  
  
-----------------  
  
"What I want to know is who cleaned out the priest's apartment," Blair wondered out loud as they entered the police station. They had ended up searching Father Nathan's home for over two hours. Jim was nothing if not thorough. Nothing else in the way of a possible clue was found.  
  
"My money's on the killer," Jim said. "He probably took his wallet and keys after he shot him, then went to his place to clean it out."  
  
"That's sick, man. Why do all that?"  
  
"Hard to say, we don't have a motive yet. Maybe after we discover the motive, we'll find the killer."  
  
Blair shifted his cast in its sling. "Yeah, too bad no one remembered seeing him at the restaurant."  
  
The restaurant had been a dead end. No one remembered a priest from last July. Judging by the size of the lunch crowd in the trendy bistro, Jim wasn't surprised. When Blair had asked for a table, the manager had shaken his head. Without a reservation, you didn't get near Gethro's, which left them with the Wonder Burger option. Jim didn't mind, but his partner had been less than pleased.  
  
They found Dan Wolfe happily working in his world of cadavers, scalpels and large, metal drawers. He looked up as they entered, a smirk on his face. "Heard your case made a nice splash with the media."  
  
"Yeah, we had to sneak in through the parking garage," Jim admitted. "The press was waiting to ambush us on the street."   
  
"How'd they find out so fast, anyway?" Blair asked.  
  
"They monitor police frequencies," Jim said. "Probably found a patrol officer with a big mouth to talk with. Word gets around. I'm surprised we managed to keep it quiet as long as we did." He folded his arms across his chest. "So, what do you have for us, Dan?"  
  
"Not a lot. Obviously the victim died from a head injury," Dan said. "I've got the bones in the back." He led them into a smaller room where the skeleton was laid out on a table, the skull and rib cage above the pelvic girdle. One complete leg was assembled, the other missing the bones below the knee. None of the finger bones were lined up yet, but both arms bones were laid out to the wrists. "We've lost part of the skeleton. I'd guess rodents, since it was unlikely anything bigger got inside that wall."  
  
That made sense to Jim and he nodded. "We looking at a gunshot to the head?"  
  
"Yeah, in fact, I've got the proof." Dan held up a small, flattened piece of lead with a pair of forceps. "We found the bullet inside the skull. When I realized there was no exit wound, I dug around a bit."  
  
Jim squinted at the bullet. "Looks like a twenty-two."  
  
"Yep, I agree. I was just getting it ready to send to the Feds."  
  
"Good. Anything else?" Jim asked.  
  
"Just waiting on a dental match. Any luck finding a missing priest?" Dan asked.  
  
"Maybe. I'll get some dental records to you later today," Jim told him.  
  
"What about those beads Jim said was found in the pockets?" Blair asked.  
  
"Ah… over here." Dan picked up a clear baggie. "We found three, they all match."  
  
"May I?" Blair reached for the bag, accepting it after Jim gave Dan the nod. "I think these might be from a rosary."  
  
"You mean like the one Father Clark had in his office?" Jim asked.  
  
"Right, each bead represents a prayer. A set of ten beads stand for a mystery," Blair said.   
  
"A mystery? What's that?" Dan asked.   
  
"It's been a while since I read about this," Blair said, flashing a grin. "Naomi was never big on organized religion, except a few Jewish ceremonies when I was a kid. But I did a paper on the Catholics' belief in miracles, so I read about rosaries."  
  
"And your point?" Jim pressed, knowing Blair could spend hours on a subject without finding one.  
  
"Oh, my original point was the rosary has a certain amount of beads to be complete," Blair said, waving the bag slightly in his left hand before passing it back to Dan. "I was just getting ready to answer Dan's question about the mysteries, man. You see, the way I think it goes, the job of each set of beads is to remind the believer of something specific, like Christ's sorrows or miracles. Stuff like that. They call them mysteries."  
  
"We have three beads from a set of ten. None were found in the wall, so where are the rest?" Jim asked, eyeing the beads. They looked old, not made of plastic or even glass. He took the baggie from Dan and opened it carefully, taking a tentative sniff. A musty odor of old death clung to them, underneath that, he picked up another smell.  
  
"Roses."  
  
"Really?" Blair leaned in to smell. "Must be faint, man. I'm not getting anything."  
  
"Yeah, it is faint. But it's there," Jim admitted, passing Dan the baggie when his cell phone began to ring. "Ellison."  
  
"Jim, your subpoena's ready," Simon's voice said gruffly in Jim's ear. "The dentist will be expecting you. Get those films to Dan. I want something solid for a four o'clock press meeting the brass called today."  
  
An ache rose behind Jim's eyes. He knew what was coming next and he wasn't disappointed. Still, he tried to beg off. "Simon, I don't…"  
  
"Save it for your lady friends, Ellison. You will be there."  
  
He hung his head in defeat. "Yes, Sir."  
  
-----------------  
  
The press meeting was well attended. Blair stood off to one side, doing his best to stay out of the way. A dozen lights were shining on Jim and Simon as the TV cameras recorded their answers. They knew the name of the man left inside the wall. It was in fact Nathan Seahurst, the twenty-seven year old man missing from Saint Peter Catholic Church. But they couldn't tell the press yet. They had family to notify first.  
  
The press didn't give up though as they tried to ask the very questions that Simon had already made clear they could not answer. Blair had to admit, Simon did a decent job of keeping control of the meeting. He'd delivered the prepared release with a professional air and ended by allowing the reporters to ask Jim a few questions. What a laugh. Blair would have smiled if not for the throbbing pain in his arm. Each question they asked was met with Jim's single response.   
  
"It's under investigation. I'm not at liberty to comment."  
  
Finally, they gave up. Either tired of the same answer to all their questions or realizing they had to hustle to make the five o'clock news, they packed up and left.  
  
"Well, that was fun," Jim drawled, rubbing his forehead, obviously fighting a headache from the lights.  
  
"Yes, isn't it though? Glad you could share in the experience," Simon answered with a smug look, taking a cigar from his pocket. "We've got an APB out on the priest's car. Maybe we'll get lucky. Why don't you two call it a day? Sandburg looks ready to collapse."  
  
Blair leaned away from the wall, indignation building within. Sure he was a little tired and his arm felt like the cast had shrunk three inches, but he was holding his own. "What do you mean? I'm fine."  
  
"Thanks, Simon," Jim said, snagging Blair's good arm at his elbow and towing him towards the elevators. "We'll see you in the morning."  
  
After the doors closed, Blair turned to Jim. "I am fine."  
  
"Riiight."  
  
"I am, damn it!"  
  
"Listen Lefty, we've been on the run all day. I'm tired, have a king-size headache and I have two good arms. Your face is pale, you're trembling and your body temperature is up. You got - what? Maybe four hours sleep total last night? Admit it. It's time to take a pain pill and get some rest."   
  
The doors opened and Jim walked out into the parking garage, leaving Blair to struggle for an answer. He followed at a slower pace in the taller man's wake. He had slept badly last night. Every time he had rolled over, the cast would bump the wall or something and wake him.   
  
"Okay, but other than that, I'm fine."  
  
Jim didn't reply as they got inside the truck and drove towards the entrance. The metal security gate began to open as Jim's truck neared. The rain was falling lightly, almost a mist. The streetlights were lit in the darkening gloom of dusk making it hard to see the figure standing just outside the gate.  
  
"Who's that?" Blair asked.  
  
Jim peered at the person in the raincoat, his face registering surprise. "It's the secretary from the church."  
  
"What's she want?"  
  
"Let's find out." Jim hit the button on the door, rolling down his window. No cars were driving into the garage, so he turned the wheel to drive up to the curb. "Miss? Cindy, isn't it? Can we help you?"  
  
Blair leaned forward. He could see she'd been crying. Her eyes were puffy, her nose red. She wore a black cape with a hood. The bottom of her long skirt was wet from the weather.   
  
"I didn't know," she said tearfully. "When you came to the church earlier, I…I didn't know Father Nathan was dead."  
  
"I'm sorry," Jim told her. "We just verified it a few hours ago. Did you know him very well?"  
  
She nodded as a fresh batch of tears fell from her eyes. Blair's heart twisted at the sight. She looked so lost. "Jim, we can't leave her, man."  
  
"Why don't you let us buy you some coffee?" Jim said, opening the driver's door and getting out. He tilted the back of his seat forward and helped her onto the small back bench. "If you're up to it, we'd like to ask you some questions. Then we can bring you back here or take you home. Did you drive?"  
  
She climbed in, her hood falling back from her face to reveal her long brown wavy hair. Blair had to admit, she really was pretty.  
  
"I… I took the bus. I wanted to talk to you, Detective." She settled into the backseat.   
  
Jim climbed back in and closed the door. "There's a coffee shop just around the block. How about we talk there, then we'll drive you home."  
  
They found the café and managed to get the last booth in the back. Cindy seemed a little more in control as she sipped the coffee. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to talk to you."  
  
"It's okay," Jim told her. "I'm sorry about Father Nathan."  
  
She smiled sadly, her gaze dropping to study her hands as they clutched her coffee cup. "He was so nice. He knew I wasn't a Catholic, but he was still so nice to me. Father Nathan made me see the beauty of his belief. He was so helpful." She broke off in a quiet sob before continuing. "And it got him killed."  
  
"How do you mean?" Jim asked, taking a few napkins from the dispenser on the table and handing them over.   
  
She pressed them to her eyes to catch her tears as she talked. "Everyone thought he ran away with Teresa, but he wouldn't. He loved the Church; he wouldn't leave his calling. She got him killed."   
  
Blair held his breath, afraid to move, to risk interrupting the woman or distracting her as she talked. Jim hunched his shoulders forward, as he leaned across the table. "Who's Teresa? What's her last name?"  
  
Cindy dropped her hand and began worrying the napkin as she explained, "Teresa Reano. She disappeared the same time Father Nathan did."  
  
"Reano?" Jim repeated, looking over at Blair with a puzzled expression. "And no one has seen her either?"  
  
Cindy shook her head. "No, her family goes to the church. I know her father was very upset when she disappeared. I heard him in Father Clark's office, yelling how Father Nathan ran off with his daughter." Cindy looked up pleadingly. "He wouldn't, though. I knew he wouldn't. I c-can't believe he's really dead."  
  
-----------------  
  
Blair closed his bloodshot eyes and leaned back against the wall of the elevator as it carried them to the third floor. He looked like crap and for the tenth time that day, Jim felt guilty. He should have insisted his roommate stay in the loft today.  
  
"How's the arm?"  
  
"It's still attached."  
  
"You need to elevate it. I'll fix some stir fry while you lay down. By the way, you never got around to telling me how you broke it."   
  
"Okay, but you've got to promise not to laugh," Blair ordered.  
  
The elevator door opened with its usual squeaky door and Jim automatically turned down his hearing to compensate. They walked towards their home side by side. He never heard the three men that stood in the shadowy corners of the hallway until he felt the end of a gun in his ribs.  
  
"Turn around and you're dead." The voice had a casual tone that spoke of a killer who knew his business.  
  
"I'm a cop," Jim said calmly as he felt his gun being removed from its holster.  
  
"We know. Move."  
  
They obeyed, heading down the hallway. Jim could hear Blair's heart trying to break free from his ribcage. While the gunman's stayed slow and even.   
  
Reaching the door, Jim was ordered to unlock it. A black, silky material fell over his head, completely blocking the light. He could hear the sounds of a hood being dropped over Blair's head as well as they were shoved into the loft.   
  
"What do you want?" Jim demanded. Blair bumped into his side and Jim instinctively reached out to steady him.  
  
"Shut up."  
  
Strong hands pulled Blair away and Jim was shoved into his own kitchen chair, the barrel of the gun still digging into his ribs. His hands were yanked behind the back of the chair and then plastic circled his wrists. Jim recognized the ratcheting sound of a flex cuff as it bit into his skin. Another ratchet spoke of similar treatment to Blair. A coarse rope wound around Jim's chest and within mere seconds he was immobilized. He cursed himself for not fighting while he had the chance.  
  
"This is how the next few minutes is going to go, Detective Ellison," the same voice said. "We ask the questions. You give us the answers. We go away. Rather simple, don't you think?"  
  
Jim took a second to wet his lips. He could still hear Blair nearby. Jim's nose picked up a mix of unfamiliar aftershave, spearmint and gun oil.   
  
"Where is Teresa?"  
  
"I don't know a Teresa," Jim replied.  
  
The sound of cracking plaster had a distinctive sound. It echoed off the brick walls followed by a sharp, pain enriched gasp.  
  
"There was only one skeleton in the wall. You've had twenty-four hours to investigate this case," the voice continued close to Jim's right ear. "Where did the priest send Teresa?"  
  
"Touch him again and I'll kill you," Jim promised, turning his head towards the voice.  
  
Another crack of plaster.  
  
Blair's scream was cut short and muffled.   
  
Jim swore vehemently and strained against the rope. The chair creaked but held him. "Stop it! We just learned the skeleton's identity, you morons! We don't know anything!"  
  
"Listen carefully." The man's lips were close to Jim's ear, the moist air of his breath causing the black hood to bump Jim's cheek. "My employer has no problem doing whatever it takes to get this information. We're watching you. We could take your partner right now if we wanted." He paused for effect, giving Jim a chance to listen to Blair's groan. "But we won't. We only want Teresa. When you find out where she is, just mention it around the police station. We'll be back."  
  
A light tap on his cheek caused Jim to jerk his head back in anger. He could feel the gloves on the man's hands. There would be no fingerprints left behind.  
  
"That wasn't so hard now, was it? Call us, detective. Or the next time this will look like child's play."  
  
Footsteps headed towards the door, and then they were alone.  
  
Jim pitched forward onto his feet, the chair still roped to his back. He bent over to shake the hood off his head. It came off easily and he turned to see Blair sitting hunched forward at the table, a black hood over his head, left wrist secured by a flex cuff to the chair's leg. His cast was out of its sling and on the table. Long fractures in the plaster ran in multiple directions throughout the cast from two impact marks.   
  
Quickly twisting sideways, Jim dropped to his knees, sliding out from the single rope around his chest. Free of the chair, he rushed to the drawers in the kitchen. A butcher knife made short work of the plastic around his wrists. Jim dropped to one knee and sliced through the plastic band around Blair's left wrist before gently lifting the hood from his friend's head.   
  
"Hey, partner, you still with me?"  
  
If Blair's face had been pale before, it was literally white now. Eyes screwed shut, lips pressed into a thin wavering line, Blair moaned while tears tracked down each cheek.   
  
"I know, I know. Just stay still, okay?" Jim murmured, squeezing Blair's left shoulder. "I'll get help."  
  
"L-lock the d-door," Blair stammered through clenched teeth, his body shaking with pain.  
  
Crap! Jim should have thought of that. "Right."   
  
They'd left his automatic on the kitchen counter. Jim snagged it and the cordless phone on his way to the door. He turned the deadbolt while dialing 911. After requesting an aid car and that Simon be notified, he returned to his friend's side.  
  
The cast was toast, crushed from two solid hits. Jim gently pinched one of Blair's fingers below the injury to see if blood was still reaching his extremities.   
  
"Don't, Jim!" Blair pleaded in a near whimper.  
  
"Easy," Jim ordered softly. "I'm not going to move your arm."  
  
Blair's eyes were opened and he wiped at his wet face with his good hand while drawing in a shaky breath. "Who were those guys?"  
  
"I'm not sure," Jim said. "But I plan on finding out."  
  
-----------------  
  
"Give him something for the pain first!"   
  
Simon entered the loft without knocking. There was no need. The door was open, probably left that way by one of the many strangers now inside. Four firemen crowded around the kitchen table, setting out their medical equipment and opening boxes.  
  
"Jim," Simon called out, noting the way the tall cop was standing protectively next to his roommate, still holding his gun in his right hand, pointed down at the floor.   
  
That made no sense. Blair was obviously hurt; any fool could see that by just looking at his face. Why was Jim acting like an enraged momma bear? The bravest firefighter, a heavyset man with red hair, was doing his best to get close.   
  
"We can't, sir. We don't carry drugs."  
  
"Then call the medics, damn it! Why the hell didn't they get dispatched?"  
  
"We got the report of injuries from an assault," the red head continued evenly, like dealing with protective partners was a typical day for him. "Now, you're both conscious and breathing okay, so this is not a medic response. Please step aside and let us help, officer."  
  
"Jim!" This time Simon seemed to get through. Jim turned towards his boss and Simon could almost see the sparks flash in his blue eyes. "Stand down."  
  
Jim grunted and moved around to the far side of Blair's chair. Crouching down to murmur something in the younger man's ear, he holstered his weapon. Simon saw the shattered cast for the first time and grimaced.  
  
What the hell happened?  
  
Blair nodded and managed a pain-filled smile and Jim stepped away, falling back to stand at Simon's side.  
  
"Three men got the drop on us in the hallway outside the door," Jim said softly while the firemen worked on Blair, under Jim's watchful eye. "I never got a look at them, neither did Sandburg. They put hoods over our heads."  
  
"What did they want?" Simon asked in surprise. He drew Jim back towards the living room. Jim looked shaken and pissed, as furious as Simon had ever seen the man.   
  
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Jim answered, "The bastard asked about the skeleton in the wall. Something to do with a missing woman named Teresa."  
  
"What? Now we've got a missing woman?" Simon asked.   
  
"Yeah." Jim turned sharply when Blair yelped with pain. Simon caught his arm.   
  
"Jim! Would you stop?" This was getting ridiculous. "What's wrong with you? Let them do their job."  
  
Thankfully, Jim stayed put and didn't pounce on the men at the table, although the dark look on his face caused more than a few nervous looks in their direction.   
  
"Damn it, Simon!" Jim hissed, wrenching his arm free from his boss's grasp. "I can't believe I let those goons just waltz in here."  
  
"Okay, so they obviously had gonads of steel, Jim. But, who were they?" Simon pressed.   
  
Jim folded his arms across his chest; both eyes narrowing into slits and Simon knew the conversation was over. "Not here, Simon." Blue eyes moved to monitor the actions of the rescue personnel.  
  
-----------------  
  
Some of Jim's rage ebbed as Blair's face took on the blissful look of a man with good drugs flowing through his blood stream. As Blair liked to sometimes joke – 'better living through chemicals, man.'  
  
"Let's try and keep this cast intact for more than twenty-four hours, shall we, Mr. Sandburg?" the same grandmotherly doctor said with a pat on her patient's shoulder.  
  
"Suuurre, Doc'r," Blair promised, grinning as he saw Jim.  
  
Jim could see his partner was exhausted; dark circles ringed around his eyes; his hair was dull and lifeless. His upper body swayed as he sat on the exam table.  
  
"Heyyabi'guy!"  
  
"Hey, yourself, Chief," Jim answered. "Ready to leave?"  
  
Blair's happy nod was suddenly aborted, his eyes becoming wide. "What 'bout… if they come back?"  
  
"Relax. We're staying with Simon tonight." Jim helped Blair to his feet and steadied him as his morphine-high friend moved to sit in a wheelchair for his ride to the entrance. Simon sat waiting in his car, just outside the ER entrance. Jim held Blair upright with a fist full of jacket as he opened the rear door.  
  
"Ohhh, cool. Look, Jim! Blankets… and a pillow, niiice." Blair awkwardly crawled in and scooted across the back seat on his butt. Allowing Jim to pull off his sneakers, he lowered himself down on his left side with a happy sigh.  
  
It took Jim just a second to create enough support for Blair's cast with extra blankets. He saved the last one to drape over his friend's still form. The younger man was asleep by the time Jim had finished and carefully closed the door.  
  
"I'll drive slowly, Jim," Simon promised as the cop got in the front passenger seat and looked over his shoulder with a frown.   
  
"Okay." Jim caught Simon's eye and felt his face heat up. "Sorry, sir. It's just…"  
  
Simon held up a hand. "I understand, Jim. Believe me. Now tell me about this missing girl."   
  
As they drove through the dark streets, Jim tried to organize his thoughts. Hell, it didn't take much effort, he knew so little. He noticed the digital clock in Simon's dash. It was after midnight. The rain, caught in the twin headlights, was floating down in a light mist.  
  
"As we left the station, the secretary from the church was waiting for us outside the parking garage," Jim said, beginning the story.  
  
By the time they arrived at Simon's house and parked inside his attached garage, Simon was up to date. The captain sat, tapping his lower lip with his finger. Jim waited, listening to ticking sounds from the cooling engine echo off the walls. During the drive, Jim had paid close attention to the traffic and had asked Simon to make a few extra turns. He was satisfied they hadn't been followed from the hospital. For now, they were safe.  
  
"Why does that last name sound so familiar?" Simon asked quietly.  
  
"Yeah, I wondered the same thing. I've heard it before. I was going to run it when I got to work today."  
  
Simon slapped the steering wheel. "I've got it! Ethan Reano! He's on the Fed's 'Top Ten Gangsters List.' I know a few suits that would give up their cushy pensions to find some real dirt on him."  
  
"Wonderful, organized crime," Jim said with a groan. "And it sounds like he's got someone at the station on his payroll. I'm betting Teresa is related somehow," he added, twisting his neck to check on Blair.   
  
The younger man was still sound asleep. Nothing short of a factory's quitting whistle was going to bring him out of his drugged slumber. At least Jim had Simon to help get him inside.  
  
As if reading Jim's mind, Simon turned to look into his backseat. "He looks almost harmless when he drools in his sleep."   
  
"It's his best defense, Simon. He's always underestimated," Jim admitted. "Help me with him?"  
  
"Sure." Simon opened the door. "Let me make sure Daryl's bed is ready first. Then we'll carry him inside."  
  
By the time Simon returned to the garage, Jim had Blair half awake and sitting on the edge of the backseat. Together the two cops hoisted him to his feet and guided him up the two steps into Simon's home.   
  
"J'm…"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Blair blinked in a rapid pattern at the brightness of the kitchen. "I gotta go."  
  
After the necessary detour, they arrived in the room of Simon's only son. Jim knew Daryl spent the majority of his time with his mother, Simon's ex-wife. Every other weekend he stayed with his dad. It appeared Simon had taken every effort to make sure his son had his own space. The room had the normal clutter of sports equipment, books and toys a person would expect to find in child's room. Daryl seemed to be in transition, the toys of his childhood holding court with the interests of the early teenage years to come.  
  
They manhandled Blair into the bedroom and sat him down on the edge of the twin bed. Simon left to get extra bedding for the couch.  
  
"We're at Simon's?" Blair asked as Jim unbuttoned his coat.   
  
"Yeah, we'll get some sleep and come up with a game plan in the morning," Jim said, working his friend's coat off then starting on shirts underneath. When he reached Blair's last layer, a white T-shirt, he stood the drugged man up and started on the belt buckle, gently slapping away Blair's single handed attempts to help.   
  
"Those guys… they asked about Teresa," Blair mumbled between yawns. He swayed on his feet and steadied himself with a handful of Jim's sweater.  
  
Jim let his friend lean against his shoulder as he bent down to slip Blair's jeans over his hips and fall onto the floor. "I know. We'll talk more in the morning. Nothing's going to happen tonight. Step up." Jim kicked away the jeans and guided Blair back onto the bed. "Lay down on your side."  
  
"Cindy said…" Blair's energy seemed to wane as he became horizontal. "She talked about…"  
  
"Put a sock in it, Junior," Jim ordered gently as he worked with the extra pillows; satisfied with the way the cast was elevated. Blair looked comfortable. "Try not to do your normal thrashing around in bed. You need to keep the swelling down in that arm."  
  
Snorting as Jim covered him with blankets, Blair settled in with a dopey expression on his face. "'Kay, night, man."  
  
"Good night, Sandburg."  
  
-----------------  
  
Something big and green was snarling at him.  
  
Blair blinked in surprised, recognizing the figure as the comic book hero from that TV show Naomi let him watch when he was a kid. When the character was normal, the guy was Bill Bixby. If you got him mad, he turned into this enormous green guy.  
  
Blair was fairly certain he didn't own any sheets with the incredible Hulk on them.   
  
Okay, I'm not in Kansas anymore. He lifted his head and tried to roll over. Somehow, he'd become cocooned inside a wall of pillows and blankets. The pain reached his brain about the same time he tried to move his arm.  
  
"Ow! Ow! OW! Shit!"  
  
"Blair?"   
  
Jim was at his side, leaning over and looking ready to solve the world's problems. A flood of memories sluiced over Blair's mind.  
  
The hallway. The guy's with the guns. That black hood. They broke his cast. Damn, he hurt!  
  
"Here. Open up."  
  
Something small was pushed into his mouth, onto his tongue. Jim lifted him by the shoulders with one arm.  
  
"Drink."  
  
The rim of a plastic glass pressed against his lips and cool water flowed in and carried whatever had been on his tongue down his throat.   
  
"The doctor said you're going to be pretty sore for a few days. This will help," Jim told him.  
  
Oh, nuts. Jim just gave him a pain pill. Well, the pain was intense, worse than before. It felt like a giant rat was gnawing on his bones. Just the thought of getting up and moving around made him sick to his stomach. In fact…  
  
"Jimmm, I don't feel so good, man."  
  
"Deep breaths, Blair," Jim coached, lowering his head back on the pillow and lightly rubbing the back of his neck. "Through your nose, it'll get better."  
  
The wave passed and Blair closed his eyes in relief. God, he felt trashed. How was he going to help Jim with the investigation when he couldn't even keep his empty stomach in line? Jim lifted his left hand and filled it with two saltine crackers.  
  
"You want to get up or sleep some more?" Jim asked him.  
  
Keeping his eyes closed as he munched, Blair considered the options. "What time is it?"  
  
"Ten."  
  
"Morning or night?"   
  
"Morning."  
  
"I want up."  
  
"Nice and easy." Jim pulled the blankets away and tore down the pillow wall. After a steady pull on Blair's left bicep, Blair experienced verticalness, from the waist up anyway. Jim was ready with the sling from the hospital. In seconds Blair's cast was safely tucked inside.  
  
"Ready to stand up?" Jim asked.  
  
Blair wondered. He finished the last of his cracker and nodded. The trip to his feet was smooth with Jim's help. His balance was similar to a newly born colt. The effort left him breathless however and wanting to sit back down.  
  
"How about a bath?" Jim asked.  
  
Blair took a sniff. "Not a bad idea, man. I stink." He remembered skipping his normal shower yesterday, or was that the day before? "What about this?" He looked down at his right arm.   
  
"Ah, we've already thought of that. Hold on a second." Jim went to a small student desk and retrieved a plastic sleeve.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"It's a cover for your cast. Simon's ex-wife broke her arm a few years ago," Jim explained. "You slip it over the case and blow it up like a balloon. Keeps the cast dry, even in a shower."  
  
"Cool, lead the way."   
  
A few minutes later, Blair was sinking into a warm bath, complete with bubbles. "Ohhhhhh, yeah."  
  
Jim chucked from his perch on the closed toilet lid. "How's the pain?"  
  
"Dulled some," Blair admitted. It occurred to him he was having a conversation with his roommate while naked in a bathtub. How weird was that? "Ah… don't take this wrong, Jim. I'm really thankful for your help, but…"  
  
Jim snickered. "What? You're going to wash that mop of hair on your head one-handed?"  
  
"Oh." Blair blinked at the shampoo dispenser sitting on the edge of the tub. He doubted he'd be able to get the stupid cap off. "You've got a point."  
  
"You want me to get Simon in here to help?" Jim asked with a straight face.  
  
Blair sucked in his breath. "No!" Then seeing the older man's mouth begin to curl, he relaxed. "Jerk!"  
  
Jim laughed as he lifted a towel from the wall rack and tied it around his middle. He moved down to kneel by the tub. "Simon's too busy anyway. He's reading over some files Brown brought over from the station this morning. Scoot down and dunk your head."  
  
Blair did as instructed. It was awkward with only one hand, but Jim cupped the back of his neck like a preacher baptizing a convert. "What files?" Blair asked, wiping the bubbles from his eyes as Jim started working shampoo into his wet hair.  
  
"The files on Reano," Jim explained. "Turns out Teresa Reano's the only child of Ethan Reano."  
  
"And Ethan Reano is?" Blair closed his eyes and leaned his head forward as Jim's fingers massaged his scalp. He could get used to this.  
  
"Cascade's own organized crime boss. He's believed to have his finger in every illegal gambling operation in the northwest. He's also a member of the same church as Father Clark."   
  
The stupid pain pill seemed to be slowing his brain activity, because for the life of him, Blair could not connect the dots. "Why is Simon looking at files about this Reano guy? Oh, wait a sec. Cindy said Teresa's father was yelling at Father Clark. So daddy thought his daughter and Father Nathan ran off together? Then… those goons last night probably work for Teresa's father."  
  
Blair sat up straight. "Oh my God! We've got a mafia boss thinking we know where his daughter is? We're in deep shit, Jim!"  
  
"Calm down, Sandburg," Jim ordered. "Rinse before you get soap in your eyes."  
  
They repeated the dunking, only this time Jim kept his hair submerged a few seconds to get all the soap out. Blair turned over the puzzle of the missing woman in his mind as he floated. Why would anyone believe the two had run off together? Just because they disappeared at the same time? But Cindy had said Father Nathan was helping Teresa. Helping her how? What did a mafia kid need help with? Or was it the Thorn Birds all over again with just a criminal twist? No wonder Father Clark hadn't said anything to them. The church didn't need this kind of story getting out. The media would have a field day.  
  
Jim lifted him back up.  
  
"We need to talk to Father Clark again, Jim. And Cindy, too," Blair said.  
  
"Yeah, I agree. I have a few more questions. I don't think the good Father came totally clean with us." Jim frowned at Blair's hair. "We're going to need conditioner, aren't we?"  
  
"Only if I want to comb it."  
  
"Hold on, let me check with Simon." Jim stood up and Blair heard his knees pop in protest. "Finish washing up, don't fall asleep."  
  
"Right." Blair reached for the clean wash rag Jim had folded neatly and left on the rim of the tub. By the time he'd finished washing, Jim returned with a small tube in one hand.  
  
"This stuff might work."  
  
"Let me see." Blair read the label, or tried to. The fine print was too blurry, but the larger print told him enough. "This is good. In fact, it's pretty nice stuff. I'm surprised Simon uses it."  
  
"He didn't. It was his ex's," Jim told him, reaching down to open up the drain. "You want to use the shower for the final rinse?"  
  
"Sure." Blair started to stand, but was stopped.  
  
"No, let's get it in now. It needs to sit on your hair for a few minutes." Jim squeezed a large amount into his palm and started working it into Blair's hair.  
  
"Who knew you were a natural, man? I could get you a part time job with that fancy hair salon on Clearwater. One of my students works there. I hear they're looking for a new shampoo man," Blair teased.  
  
Jim finished with a snort. "Did I ever tell you about the time I got suspended in high school for two days after snapping a guy in gym class with a wet towel? He couldn't sit down for a week."  
  
Blair cracked one eye. Jim had that deadly look he liked to use on felons.  
  
Shit.  
  
"Ah… I think that was the pain pill talking."  
  
"Riiight."  
  
-----------------  
  
"How's he doing?" Simon asked as Jim entered the kitchen.  
  
Jim shrugged. "He's in pain, but he's not admitting to it."  
  
Simon stood from the kitchen table. "Why am I not surprised? You think he'll be hungry?"  
  
"Maybe some dry toast for now." Jim sat down and picked up the file he'd been looking over when he'd first heard Blair wake up. "Any luck reaching Reano?"  
  
"Yeah, Rhonda got you an appointment for eleven-thirty. Brown and Taggart are on their way over." Simon pulled down a loaf of white bread and pulled out two pieces. He carefully inspected them as if checking for mold.   
  
"Sounds good," Jim said. "I'll swing by the loft while I'm out and pick up some clothes. Thanks for loaning him those sweats by the way."  
  
"No problem. Daryl insists on wearing clothes that are too big on him, they should be about Sandburg's size," Simon commented as he dropped the bread into a toaster and pushed the lever down.  
  
Blair shuffled into the kitchen, his hair combed and hanging in wet waves. "Hey."  
  
"Good morning, Sandburg." Simon pulled out a chair. "How about some toast?"  
  
Sinking slowly onto the offered chair, Blair offered a weary smile. "Thanks, man. And thanks for letting me stay. And for the clothes and stuff."  
  
"No problem, happy to have both of you," Simon admitted. "You want something to drink? Coffee? Juice?"  
  
"Tea?" Blair asked. "If it's not a problem."  
  
"No, let me go check the pantry," Simon said heading for a far door and disappearing.  
  
Blair leaned towards his roommate. "Why's he being so nice to me?" he said in a low, rushed voice.  
  
Jim smiled. "Why wouldn't he?"  
  
"It's not normal, man. He's starting to freak me out here."  
  
"Just enjoy it for now. He'll be back to growling at you before you know it."  
  
"I hope so." Blair shuddered. "It's just not natural. I feel like I'm dreaming or something."  
  
"It's the pain pills, remember?" Jim teased, standing as the toast popped up.   
  
"How's this?" Simon reentered the kitchen holding a box of Celestial Teas. "It's a sample of… ah, four types of herbal tea. The wrapper's still intact. This stuff doesn't have an expiration date, does it?"  
  
"Nah, I'm sure it's fine. I'll have the lemon zinger. If that's okay."   
  
"Sure." Simon busied himself filling the teapot.  
  
"The guys are here," Jim announced, setting the dry toast down on a paper towel in front of Blair. "I'll let them in."  
  
A few seconds later, the kitchen was filled with men. Taggart helped himself to a peppermint tea bag while Brown let Simon pour him a cup of coffee. After they inquired about Blair's health and voiced their outrage over the attack at the loft, they got down to the business at hand.  
  
"Unfortunately, I can't get out of my lunch meeting with the Mayor's task force," Simon explained. "H, you back Jim up at the meeting with Reano. And keep Jim from killing anyone." Simon pointed a long finger at Jim as the man leaned against the kitchen counter. "Do not do or say anything that gives the man cause to call the Chief, Ellison. I'd hate to pull you off this case."  
  
Jim nodded. He'd play it by the book, for now.   
  
"Don't worry, Simon. I'll make sure Jim toes the line," Blair said solemnly from his seat at the table.   
  
Joel looked up in surprise. "I thought Sandburg and I were staying behind."  
  
"What!" Blair demanded loudly, dropping the half eaten toast onto the table. "No way!"   
  
"You got it right, Joel," Jim answered over Blair's objections. "You're under doctor's orders to rest, partner."  
  
"Jim, I'm not going to run a marathon," Blair announced. "I'm just going to ride in the truck with you and sit in on a stupid meeting."  
  
"No, you're going to finish your toast and go back to bed… or the couch. As long as you're horizontal, I don't care," Jim said calmly.  
  
"Simon, didn't you say you needed some advice on rebuilding your back porch?" Taggart said. "Maybe H and I can take a look."  
  
"Great idea," Simon agreed, happily heading for the back door. "Come on back and I'll show you."  
  
Jim held his tongue, waiting until they were alone. Blair's jaw was thrust out, his blue eyes held the determination equal to an entire platoon of marines. Jim sighed. This was not going to be easy.  
  
"Sandburg… you're hurt. You need to rest."  
  
"It's just a broken arm, man," Blair countered in a defiant tone.  
  
Holding up a single hand to stop Blair's argument, Jim interrupted, "That got additional trauma yesterday. You've got extensive soft tissue damage. The swelling almost prohibited the doctor from putting a new cast on your arm. She made it very clear to you to stay down, elevate your cast and take your medicine." Jim was proud of the way he kept his voice steady and resisted his impulse to shout. Blair could be so stubborn about issues relating to his own heath.   
  
"Fine! But I want to go back to the loft to rest. And I don't want a babysitter!"  
  
"Joel's a bodyguard, dufus!" Jim replied hotly. So much for keeping his anger under control. He paused, willing himself to calm down before continuing. "Look, I understand where you're coming from here, Chief. But those guys yesterday scared the shit out of me. They came that close--" Jim held up a hand to illustrate the difference of an inch with his thumb and forefinger, "--to taking you with them. Just as incentive so I'd find Teresa Reano."  
  
That seemed to startle his friend. Jim realized Blair hadn't heard the gunman's threat, no doubt due to the pain he was in when they'd broken his cast.   
  
After a second of contemplation, Blair shook his head, his wet hair lightly slapping his cheeks. "That just proves we shouldn't split up. I'm safer at your side. "  
  
Jim could feel his blood pressure climbing. "No… they don't know you're here. You'll be safe with Joel."  
  
"What about you!" Blair leaned forward, smacking his palm on the table.   
  
"I'll have H with me; he'll watch my back." Jim gripped Blair's wrist and squeezed hard, holding it down onto the table. "I'd rather bring you, okay? But I'm not going to risk you getting hurt again. It's the best plan available here. We've got to play the cards we're dealt on this one, Blair."  
  
Jim could see the actual moment his argument convinced his bullheaded roommate. Blair's shoulders sagged, the set of his jaw relaxed and he released a gust of air like a punctured balloon.   
  
"This totally sucks, Jim."  
  
-------------------  
  
"You think Hairboy will stay put?" Henri asked as they drove away from Simon's house.  
  
Jim nodded, remembering how his partner had looked when they had left. Blair had stubbornly refused to rest, choosing instead to sit on Simon's couch, reading over the files. "I told Joel to make sure, even sit on him if he had to."  
  
"That'd keep me in place," H chuckled. "I gotta tell you Jim, you've got a hell of a partner backing you up. The dude's like a pit bull when he's got an idea in his head."  
  
"Tell me about it, H." Jim leaned against the passenger door and rubbed the back of his neck. "I've just got to work on his self-preservation skills."  
  
"Oh, I wouldn't say he's a stranger to danger, Jim. Did he tell you about the African bush tribe that accused him of scaring their food away?" Henri asked. "He even showed me the scar. I'd say he can take care of himself pretty good."  
  
Jim snorted softly. Henri was right; Blair knew how to handle himself in a tight spot. It wasn't an issue of his fight for survival; it was his tendency to forfeit his own safety to protect others that scared him. From garbage trucks to flying bullets, Blair acted first and freaked out later.  
  
Reano's office was on the fifteenth floor of the Chinook Tower in downtown Cascade. A relatively new building to the Cascade skyline, the fifty-five storey skyscraper of glass and concrete had created quite a reaction with the surrounding businesses. The Cascade Historical Society had dubbed it the most obscene erection of ego edifice on the Pacific Coast. Jim even remembered hearing the business owners complain on the news that because their buildings would be left in the tower's shadow most of the day, their heating bills would increase.  
  
Henri spotted the signs to the parking garage, accepted the ticket from the attendant and followed the arrows to the second floor where they found an empty parking stall near the covered walkway to the tower. After finding a directory and locating the correct elevator, they entered the posh office of Reano, Inc.   
  
"May I help you, gentlemen?" a striking blond asked from her leather seat behind her mahogany desk, complete with an authentic tiffany lamp.  
  
"Ellison and Brown, Cascade Police," Jim said, holding out his badge. "We have an appointment with Reano."  
  
The smile slid off her pretty face like butter on hot Teflon. Using her left hand she reached out for a leather appointment book and began flipping through pages, her long red manicured nails flying. "Mr. Reano has been unavoidably delayed, I'm afraid," she stated flatly. "I've been instructed to reschedule your appointment. How does the end of the month look?"  
  
When she looked up, Jim was already at the heavy double door. "I'm sure it looks just fine, ma'am. But I plan on having an arrest by then."  
  
"Hey!" She sprang out of her chair, flashing long legs. "You can't go in there!"  
  
"Watch me." Jim turned the handle and let himself in, aware of the secretary and Henri following close behind him. Reano's office was enormous. Three times the size of Simon's with a panoramic view of the Puget Sound. Ugly black and gold fixtures and modern art hung on the wall. The black carpet was thick, causing Jim to wonder if he was leaving footprints from walking across it.  
  
A short man with a stocky build looked up from the black desk. He and another man had been looking over some kind of report, which the short man hastily shoved into a file folder and dropped into a drawer.  
  
"What the hell is going on, Doris?" he shouted.  
  
"Mr. Reano! This man just barged in!" the blonde said, her tone telling Jim the tears would be making an appearance soon. "I tried to stop him!"  
  
Reano turned to glare at Jim. "Who are you?"  
  
"Detective Ellison, Cascade PD. This is Detective Brown. Sorry we're late for our appointment." Jim held his ID out.   
  
With a dismissive wave to the secretary, Reano picked up his phone and pressed a button. "Andy, tell the governor's office I'll be a few minutes late. Send my apologies… no, it's a family matter." Hanging up the phone, he waved at the man next to him. "Go. We'll talk more later."  
  
Once the office was empty of all the employees, Reano dropped into his seat. Jim took the black leather chair in front of the desk, seeing Henri do the same out of the corner of his eye. He sniffed the air, testing for the scent of aftershave and spearmint but didn't find it.  
  
"You must not value your position in the police department, Ellison," Reano said, leaning back. "I could have you fired with one phone call."  
  
Jim smiled. "I'm sure you could. But you won't."  
  
Reano's eyes narrowed. He had the face of an executive. Unnaturally tan, probably from repeated trips to a tanning booth. Judging by the files Jim had looked over at Simon's house, the man was too busy for long vacations in Hawaii. His dark hair was short and trim. Rather than a supposed leader of the regional organized crime cartel, he looked more likely to step out of the cover of a senior GQ magazine.   
  
"And why is that?" Reano asked.  
  
"You want me to find your daughter, right? That's why you sent your 'employees' to my home yesterday." Jim leaned forward, the smile was gone now. He stared hard at the man behind the desk. "Just for the record, if anything like that happens again. I'm not going to bother with the courts. And the person responsible won't even see me coming."  
  
"Are you threatening me?" Reano demanded, his voice low and deadly.  
  
Jim didn't answer. He didn't blink.   
  
Reano cleared his throat and glanced down at his hands. "What do you know about my daughter?"  
  
"Nothing," Jim said leaning back. "As you no doubt know by now, the skeleton found was Father Nathan, the priest from the church you attend. Can you tell me what business he might have had with your daughter?"  
  
Reano's eyes drifted to a gold frame on the corner of his desk. A pretty brunette with sad eyes and a perfect complexion stared back. "I know he was interested in more than her confession," he snapped angrily. "That fool Father Clark didn't listen to me when I demanded he be transferred to another church."  
  
"Maybe he takes his orders from a higher source," Henri said with an innocent look.  
  
Reano didn't respond to the comment. "My daughter loved going to church. She joined every damn committee they made up. She told me once she wanted to become a nun."  
  
Jim didn't like the way the man sneered as he spoke. "Why do you even bother to attend?"  
  
Reano's eyes snapped back to spear Jim to his seat. "That's not your concern. Now that I know that priest didn't run off with my daughter, I expect you to find her."  
  
"How old is she?" Jim asked.  
  
"She's only nineteen."  
  
"She's an adult, she can go where she wants, when she wants," Jim said. "I admit that I'd like to talk to her about the death of Father Nathan. Frankly I'm more interested in your involvement. Maybe you had Father Nathan put in that wall. You obviously feel he was becoming too interested in your daughter."  
  
Reano stood. "We're finished, Detective. You can be sure any future appointments will be in the presence of my counsel."  
  
Jim rose from his chair. Taking a business card from his wallet, he laid it on the desk. "We'll be in touch. Feel free to call me at the station if you think of anything else," Jim said, using his professional 'cop' voice. "And this time, handle it personally. If my roommate so much as stubs his toe, be looking for me.'"  
  
Reano's back stiffened. "I have no idea what you're talking about."  
  
"I think you do," Jim answered. "I can assure you I'm watching now. I won't be caught off guard again. And if I see your daughter, I'll tell her you're concerned. She can pick up the phone and call you if it suits her."  
  
On the way back to the car, Henri broke the silence between them. "So, what part of Simon's earlier warning didn't you understand, babe?"  
  
Jim chuckled. "What, you saying I was over the top?"  
  
"Hey, Jim, don't get me wrong. I loved the show. But he's right. One phone call and you could be standing in the welfare line."  
  
Jim grew serious. "H, if that all it takes, then I don't believe I care to be a part of this department anymore."  
  
Simon's house was dark and quiet when Joel let them in. Jim's eyes were drawn to the form on the couch. Blair's hair was dry. He sat slumped over in the middle of the sofa. He looked like he'd been trying to read reports until he'd succumbed to the heavy pull of sleep.   
  
"He just drifted off," Joel whispered. "You guys are late."  
  
"We swung by the loft." Jim held up a large tote bag. "Needed to get a few things if we're going to be staying with Simon for a while."  
  
"You weren't followed?" Joel asked as he closed and locked the door.  
  
"As many times as Jim had me double back on the way here, I'm not even sure I know where I'm at," Henri said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.  
  
Frowning at the way his partner was positioned; Jim squatted next to the sleeping man and rescued the file from sliding off his lap onto the floor. "His arm has to stay elevated."   
  
"You're not going to wake him, are you?" Joel asked.   
  
"Hopefully not," Jim muttered. "Would one of you get some pillows and a blanket from Darryl's room?"  
  
While Joel went off to fetch the requested items, Jim carefully tipped his friend over. Blair's head landed gently on a throw pillow and two unfocused blue eyes peeked out from half opened lids.  
  
""im?"  
  
"Yeah," Jim whispered. "Keep it down, Darwin. You're sleeping."  
  
Blair snorted softly and closed his eyes. "Jo'l… me… flat."  
  
"Riiight." Jim lifted the cast as Joel arrived to slide the pillows under. He lifted both legs to the sofa and covering him with a blanket. Blair's eyes remained closed and his breathing leveled out. Jim nodded towards the back kitchen.  
  
"So, how'd it go?" Joel asked once they reached the kitchen.  
  
Helping himself to the coffee waiting in the pot, Jim shrugged. "I don't think Reano cares about the priest. He's more interested in finding his daughter."  
  
"You think the dead priest has something to do with her disappearance?" Joel asked.  
  
"I think she realized daddy wasn't one of the nice guys," Jim said. "The church might have found a way for her to disappear."  
  
"Then Reano is a prime suspect, Jim," Henri insisted. "What makes you think he's not involved?"  
  
Jim couldn't come right out and explain the way the man had reacted to the questioning today. Even though his senses were a far cry from a lie detector, Jim was learning to get a feel for reading suspects and Ethan Reano seemed more interested in finding his kid than getting revenge on a priest. "Just a gut feeling, I could be wrong. I'm just saying the field's still open for other suspects. We still have a long way to go here. Has Simon called in?"  
  
Joel nodded his head. "Yeah, he's still tied up at the meeting. Said we could help ourselves to whatever we find for lunch."  
  
"How did Sandburg do?" Jim opened his boss's refrigerator and checked its contents.  
  
"Seemed okay. He read files, then got on Simon's computer, the one in his den. He found out a few interesting things," Joel said.  
  
"Like what?" Jim closed the door and started opening cupboards. He didn't know what he was in the mood for, but he'd know when he saw it.  
  
"Well, for one thing, he got all excited over some restaurant downtown. He thinks Reano may own it, or owns the company that owns it – that kind of thing."  
  
Jim paused in reaching for a large can of chili. The only restaurant they'd been to recently was the ritzy one they'd found the receipt to in Father Nathan's apartment.   
  
"Then he started checking out the online weather site," Joel continued. "Maybe he's sick of all this rain, like the rest of us."  
  
--------  
  
Blair woke slowly, his arm throbbing with pain. He'd been having the strangest dream, where a king-size Joel Taggart was trying to squash him like a bug.  
  
The wall of pillows was back, telling Blair that Jim had returned. He levered himself up into a sitting position and scrubbed his face. A serious five o'clock shadow bristled under his hand. The living room was dark; someone had drawn the drapes. Blair pushed the pillows and blanket aside, adjusted his arm in his sling and stood.   
  
As expected, Jim appeared in the doorway, a wooden spoon in hand. "Doing okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Blair answered, sniffing the air. Something smelled good, reminding him of winter days when he was a kid.   
  
"Chili," Jim explained with a smile. "With chopped onions and grated cheese. You up for a bowl?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm starved," Blair said heading for the kitchen. "What time is it?"  
  
"Three. Joel and H left. They headed back to the station. Simon's on his way here." Jim returned to the stove and stirred. "Tell me what you found out while I was gone."  
  
"Oh, yeah." Blair helped himself to a saltine cracker and leaned against the counter next to Jim. "Turns out Gethro's is owned by Northwest Foods, Inc. They're a subsidiary of Lucky Jack's Enterprises. Lucky Jack is owned by Reano International. Reano owns at least five restaurants, three bars and a dozen cafes in the Cascade and Seattle area."  
  
"You have been busy," Jim admitted. "So we have another tie to Father Nathan and Ethan Reano. The amount of that receipt was too high for a single meal. He must have dined with someone else."  
  
"Right. Now Father Clark said he had that meeting with Nathan on August third. Then we have another five days before he misses his Saturday night service." Blair finished his cracker and reached for another.  
  
"Yeah, I figured we could place the time of the murder within those five days."  
  
"I think we can do better then that, Jim," Blair said eagerly. "I got online. There's a site where you can check the weather for previous dates. Cascade had a big storm the first Wednesday in August, lightening and everything. The rest of the time was sunshine and high temperatures."  
  
Jim set the spoon down and turned to study the younger man. "The raincoat. That's pretty clever, Clouseau."  
  
Blair felt his face stretch into a grin. "Thanks, I got to thinking about all this rain. Then I remembered the raincoat on the skeleton."  
  
Jim nodded. "Yeah, it's not conclusive, but it's still a solid case of deductive reasoning. So that's – what – August fifth?"  
  
"Right."  
  
Jim gave the chili a final stir and removed it from the burner. "Okay, then. Let's run it by Simon." He took down three of Simon's dark blue bowls and started dishing out chili. He'd just started to add the chopped onions and cheese when his cell phone rang. "Ellison… okay, thanks." He hit the end button. "Simons's turning the last corner. Take a seat."  
  
True to his word, they heard the sound of the garage door opening.   
  
A few minutes later Simon walked into his kitchen, briefcase in hand and a tired scowl on his face. "I'm so sick of rubber chicken and overcooked vegetables. They even managed to screw up the dessert."  
  
Blair was on his third spoonful of chili, enjoying the extra spices Jim had put in. It tasted fantastic. "Try some of this, Simon. It's good."  
  
Setting his case in a corner, Simon stripped off his rain coat, hung it over the back of an empty chair and took a seat. "Don't mind if I do. Something about a rainy day makes it perfect for chili. Thanks, Jim." He gave Blair a critical eye, making the younger man self-consciously set down his spoon and pat his hair.  
  
Great, why didn't Jim tell him it was sticking up in a billion different directions at once?  
  
"How are you feeling, Sandburg?" Simon demanded.  
  
"Ah… good." Blair resumed eating.  
  
"Hmmm." Simon turned to Jim, one eyebrow raised. "And your meeting with Reano? Should I warn the Chief of a pending war between the police and the local mafia?"  
  
To Blair's amusement and mild horror, Jim blushed.  
  
"I'm not going to like this, am I, detective?" Simon said with obvious practice.  
  
"I might have shaken his tree a little," Jim admitted, looking down at his bowl as he took three crackers and crushed them over the chili. "I had to see what fell out."  
  
"And?" Simon asked.  
  
Jim took a large mouthful, his gaze flicking over to Blair as he chewed. Blair could have sworn there was a twinge of humor hiding within those blue irises. He relaxed as Jim went over the conversation. He ended by sharing with his boss what Blair had discovered that day.  
  
"If Reano's a dead end, where do we look next?" Blair asked.  
  
"Well," Jim replied. "I'm thinking we check with records. If both the killer and Father Nathan drove out to the rendering plant, one vehicle might have been left. Maybe even ticketed or towed away."  
  
"Unless there are two killers and one drove off with the victim's car," Simon offered. "But, it's worth looking into."  
  
"When are we going back to talk to Father Clark?" Blair asked.  
  
"I called while you were asleep," Jim told him. "Set up a meeting at five."  
  
"Here?" Simon asked, looking less than pleased with the idea.  
  
Jim shook his head. "No, I suggested he come down to the station, but he asked not to. I'm meeting him at the Barnes and Nobel on the strip."  
  
Blair bristled. "You mean we're meeting him, right?"  
  
"Sandburg." Jim frowned.  
  
"Jim," Blair cut him off, knowing what his friend was going to say and opting for a preemptive strike. "I'm okay. This doesn't even hurt." Blair briefly glanced down at his broken arm. Sure, he was lying, a little. But it did feel better than before. "I even took a stupid nap, okay? I'm not going to sit on the sidelines here."  
  
"Simon, back me up here," Jim pleaded to his boss.  
  
Simon rose, carrying his empty bowl to the stove. "Sorry, Jim. If Blair's up to it, I say he goes along. Great chili, by the way." He ladled out another helping.  
  
Jim scowled. Blair kept his triumphant to himself and resumed eating without comment.  
  
------------  
  
A few hours later, Blair followed Jim into the large bookstore, his eyes taking in the numerous shelves of brand new books with shiny, crisp jackets. It was hard to pin down his feelings for the large, impersonal chain of bookstores. He loved the fact he could go online and find a title, or swing by on his way home and pick up a book in stock, but he hated knowing these stores were making it hard for the individual bookstore owners to stay in business. Who could compete with a huge volume of books and low prices?  
  
"There he is." Jim dipped his head to the right, where a section of the store had been taken over by a Starbucks counter, complete with small round tables.   
  
Father Clark sat at a corner table, nursing a hot coffee in a white paper cup. He stood as they approached and shook Jim's hand, then took Blair's left hand in a warm embrace. "How are you feeling, Mr. Sandburg? I heard your arm was re-injured."  
  
Blair's eyes widened. How could a priest on the other side of town hear about the attack yesterday?  
  
"One of my parishioners is a nurse in Cascade ER. She puts our flower arrangements out. She saw you both at the church, then saw you again at the hospital," Father Clark explained without waiting to be asked.   
  
"Oh… I'm good, thanks for asking," Blair said.  
  
"We wanted to ask you a few more questions about Father Nathan and Teresa Reano," Jim said, cutting to the reason for the interview.  
  
"Ahh… I wondered when you were going to get around to that." The priest leaned back, his gentle face perfectly smooth.  
  
Furrows appeared on Jim's forehead and Blair recognized the beginnings of a verbal explosion. Jim was not a happy man.  
  
"Get around? You wondered when I was going to get around?" Jim leaned forward, laying both hands flat on the table and repeating the man's words back to him with emphasis. "I'm investigating a murder here, Father. I shouldn't have to get around to anything! If you know something crucial to the case, I expect your co-operation. Or I'm tempted to get around to booking you for obstruction."  
  
Father Clark held up a hand. "Forgive me, detective. I'm not explaining myself very well. I have very little information, and what I think I know falls under the area of my duties as a priest."  
  
"What information are you talking about?" Jim demanded.  
  
The priest pursed his lips, his eyes sliding down to examine the lid of his latte.   
  
"Was Father Nathan helping Teresa get away from her father?" Blair asked gently.  
  
A tentative nod was the only answer at first, then the old man met Jim's eyes and spoke, "She was in love with a young man. I don't know his name. She wanted a life away from her father's… influence."  
  
"You know what Ethan Reano is," Jim stated flatly.  
  
"I know he's a member of my church and he needs God. Like we all do," Father Clark replied quickly, a hint of steel in his words. "I'm also aware he uses the church to assist him in his illusion as a respectable citizen. I can only pray that one day the Word will reach even his heart. It won't be the first time Jesus turned a criminal around."  
  
"So, how did Father Nathan help?" Jim asked.  
  
"I'm not sure. She only spoke to me once, early on. I knew she wasn't happy." The priest shrugged. "Father Nathan is… was younger, perhaps she felt he was easier to confide in. I don't know."  
  
"Do you have any idea where Father Nathan would have sent her? Who he would have connected her with?" Jim pressed.  
  
"No, none." Father Clark finished his coffee. "I know her father is powerful and normally gets what he wants. He made vague threats when his daughter disappeared. Because I was dealing with a missing priest at the same time, I think Ethan just assumed they ran off together. He didn't seem to know about her young man."   
  
"What do you know about Father Nathan's personal life?" Jim asked. "We know he's an only child and both his parents are dead. He has an elderly aunt in the Midwest who lives in a nursing home. Apparently, she wouldn't benefit from learning her nephew is dead, most days she forgets she has a nephew."  
  
"That's about all I know as well," Father Clark said. "He enjoyed traveling, spent his vacations taking trips. His last trip was north to Canada somewhere. He stays with fellow clergy when he travels, or just camps out in his car." The man looked up suddenly. "His car! Did you find it?"  
  
"We're looking for it," Jim replied. "So, you don't have any idea where Father Nathan would have sent Teresa?"  
  
The priest shook his head.  
  
--------------  
  
"What do you mean, we can't go home?" Blair demanded as they drove back toward Simon's home. "'Till when?"  
  
"'Till I'm satisfied Reano's goons aren't planning on a second visit," Jim answered evenly.   
  
"I have office hours tomorrow, Jim."  
  
"Cancel them."  
  
"JIM!"  
  
"I'm not discussing this, Sandburg," Jim insisted, reaching for his cell phone that was ringing in his pocket. He considered pulling over. Driving Simon's personal car was nothing like his Ford. The rain soaked streets were treacherous and the wipers needed to be replaced. "Ellison…really? Thanks, Simon, yeah… that's perfect. We'll be there soon."  
  
"What?" Blair pressed.  
  
"That list of towed vehicles from August is being faxed to Simon's house," Jim answered.  
  
Jim glanced at the rear view mirror. Did that car behind them run a red light? Dialing up his vision, he caught sight of an elderly woman following them, her white knuckles gripping the steering wheel, a frown on her face. He smiled to himself, someone else who didn't enjoy driving around in the rainy darkness. Still, Jim signaled and turned right at the next intersection. It paid to play it safe.   
  
"You said you went to see Reano, certainly he knows it's useless to threaten us, man. We're not hiding his daughter," Blair stated stubbornly.   
  
"I'm not taking any chances. We'll stay with Simon until the dust settles."  
  
Simon's garage was wide enough to hold two cars. Jim used the automatic door opener to raise the garage door, but waited until his senses told him the house was empty before driving inside and parking. The fax was waiting for them in Simon's office. Blair flopped bonelessly into an overstuffed chair, one leg hitched over its padded arm. Recognizing a pouting Blair when he saw one, Jim chose to ignore him.   
  
The list in his hand was long. It appeared quite a few vehicles were towed within the two mile radius of the abandoned building last August. Hello? This one was interesting.   
  
"What?" Blair was out of the chair and at his side instantly.  
  
"A 1982 Chevy van was towed on August eighth," Jim said. "It's registered to Northwest Food, Inc."  
  
Blair took Jim's hand and tilted the paper so he could read the fax. "As in Gethro's restaurant? Did anyone pick it up?"  
  
"It doesn't say." Jim handed the fax over to his partner and pulled a thick phonebook off a wall shelf. "I'll call the tow company and ask."  
  
A half hour later, they learned the van was indeed picked up by a Michael Loggen. He had produced the proper paperwork proving he represented Northwest Food. In fact, he'd signed the paperwork as the night manager for Gethro's.  
  
Jim checked his watch, contemplating the possibility of driving over to the restaurant. Walking into Gethro's could be equivalent to walking into Reno's turf. Should he risk it? Plus, there was Blair to think about. He didn't want to leave him behind and Simon wasn't due home for a few hours.  
  
"Let's go over there right now, man," Blair suggested. "Maybe this Loggen guy is working."   
  
Jim pulled on an ear lobe, giving the idea some thought.   
  
"Come on, Jim." Blair flipped his left hand in the air. It looked strange to see him do that with only one hand. "Reano's probably home at his estate right now. Besides, what's he going to do?"  
  
"It's not Reano I'm worried about," Jim admitted with a sigh. "Just stay close, okay?"  
  
If lunch time was busy for the popular restaurant, dinner was a zoo, even for a Thursday night. Jim found parking several blocks down from the packed building and used his badge to get them inside. The hostess was a heavy set woman with a neat brown bun and a plump face. For all the hustle and rush of the crowd, she seemed in her element and actually smiled at them.  
  
"How can I help you, detective?"  
  
"We're looking for Michael Loggen," he told her, absentmindedly drawing Blair closer as a laughing party of four pushed by, bumping Jim in the ribs and giving him a quick and breezy apology.  
  
"Michael's back in the office. Why don't you boys wait in the bar? I'll send him to you."  
  
The room was packed with diners waiting for tables. Jim spotted a couple getting ready to leave and forged a path through the crowd to take possession of their table.   
  
"Wow, this place is hopping," Blair said as he awkwardly climbed onto the high four-legged stool.   
  
"Yeah, too bad the profits are going to a criminal," Jim said, keeping his voice low.  
  
Blair leaned an elbow on the table. "You know, man, from an anthropologist's point of view, the idea of organized crime is a fascinating concept. You can make an argument that…"  
  
"Let's get a something to drink, Professor. You want one of those Italian Slurpees?"   
  
"Subtle, Ellison." Blair smirked. "And, just for the record, a Slurpee is something you get at a 7-11. But I will take a beer."  
  
Jim shot his friend a disapproving glance.   
  
"What? I'm not working – you are."  
  
"I know that, Darwin. But you will be taking a pain pill when we get back to Simon's." Jim caught a waitress's eye. She came over, taking his order of mocha coffee and a raspberry Italian soda for Blair. Scanning the crowd, he spotted a tall man with thinning grey hair making his way towards them. Something about the way the man seemed to carry himself told Jim he was counting glasses and checking for cleanliness. The manager had arrived.  
  
"You're both with the police?" the man asked quietly, pulling an extra stool over from a nearby table and taking a seat.  
  
Jim reached for his badge. "Jim Ellison, Major Crime. This is my associate, Blair Sandburg. Is there somewhere we can go to talk?"  
  
"What about?"  
  
"A white van you picked up from All-Pro Tow last August," Jim answered, noticing the way the man's heart rate increased as he made the announcement.   
  
Chewing briefly on his lower lip, Loggen raked a quick eye over the crowd. "It would be better if we stayed here. Just keep your voice down, okay?"  
  
"Okay," Jim said. "What can you tell us about the circumstances surrounding your van being left on that street?"  
  
Loggen looked like a man dancing with the devil. He opened his mouth, the answer aborted midstream as the waitress returned with the ordered drinks. After she left with a nod to her boss, the manager answered. "Before I go into that, what are you investigating?"  
  
"A murder. The priest found in the wall this week," Jim answered softly.  
  
"Oh… shit." Loggen's face was white.  
  
"Hey, you okay?" Blair asked quickly.  
  
"Ah… yeah." Loggen swallowed hard and rubbed his forehead as he studied the table. "I'm just… I didn't expect that. I heard about the priest, it just never occurred to me." He looked up, his eyes filled with sorrow. "Father Nathan?"  
  
Jim nodded. Maybe they were finally getting somewhere here. "Were you there?"  
  
"No." Loggen straightened as the waitress returned with a tall glass of ice tea. "Thank you, Ruth."  
  
After she left, he took a sip and seemed to settle into his explanation. "My son, Jeff, left the van."  
  
"Was Jeff seeing Teresa?" Blair asked.  
  
Loggen glanced at the younger man in surprise. "Y-yes, they were dating."  
  
"Mr. Loggen, have you had contact with your son lately?" Jim asked.  
  
Loggen was looking scared now. "Only one body was found, right? The news only talked about one."  
  
Jim nodded. "That's right. Only the priest. We've made a positive I.D."  
  
The manager relaxed. "Good. My God, this is a nightmare." His hand was shaking as he gripped his glass. "No, to answer your question, I have not seen or heard from my son since August. He used to work here as a waiter. I know he's an adult. He just turned twenty-one last March. But I still worry. I expected a phone call by now telling me he and Teresa got married."  
  
"Is that what you wanted?" Jim asked.  
  
Loggen eyed the cop knowingly. "I'm a good manager, Detective. This is a fine restaurant. But I am aware of who its owner is. When Jeff told me he'd fallen for Teresa, I was less than pleased, but she's a nice kid. And she deserves a chance for a happy life. So, before you ask, I have no idea where they are." The man grew tall on his stool. "And if you're in Reano's pocket, you can tell him the same thing."  
  
Jim smiled at the man's sudden show of spunk. "Don't worry. Reano and I aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment."  
  
----------  
  
"Why didn't you leave me a note or something?" Simon demanded hotly as they walked into his kitchen. "I've been worried sick!"  
  
Blair shrank back from the outburst in surprise, getting the impression Darryl would turn out to be a pretty tough kid if he survived that sort of response whenever he messed up. Jim seemed to take it in stride.   
  
"Sorry, sir, spur of the moment sort of thing. One of the impounds traced back to the same restaurant that Father Nathan had gone to a few weeks before he was killed. Turns out it's owned by Reano."  
  
Simon harrumphed, taking plates down from a cabinet and setting them on the table. "Learn anything?"  
  
"I think we found the man that Teresa ran off with. They may be the reason Father Nathan was at the rendering plant," Jim said slipping out of his coat and draping it over a kitchen chair, then hooking his Jags cap on its corner.   
  
"But why would they leave the van, Jim?" Blair asked, shrugging out of his own coat one-handedly.  
  
"Maybe the priest set it up as a switch. The kids took his car and he would either take the van back or find another way back to his apartment," Jim guessed. "Or maybe a third party was somehow involved and he transported them. Who knows? I'm more interested in who killed Father Nathan. I say let the kids stay hidden, with my blessing." Jim sniffed the air. "Do I smell pizza?"  
  
Simon opened the oven and pulled out a large pizza with white sauce, chicken and garlic. "Dinner is served, gentlemen. You didn't eat at that restaurant, did you?"  
  
"Nah." Blair eagerly eyed the pizza. "The wait for a table was as long as my arm, the non-broken one."  
  
"Is it possible the kids killed Father Nathan?" Simon asked. "There's drinks in the fridge, help yourselves."  
  
Jim opened the refrigerator and perused the choices, pulling out a beer and an individual-size plastic bottle of orange juice. "I doubt it. He was the one helping them get out of town."  
  
"What better way to stay hidden? Burn the bridges as you leave," Simon pointed out, setting several slices on Blair and Jim's plate before filling his own.  
  
It was surprisingly difficult to eat pizza with one hand and deal with stringy hot cheese. Blair set his piece down and picked cheese tails off his chin. "I bet Reano's bruisers killed him. Probably trying to find out where Teresa and Jeff went."  
  
"A bullet in the head is hardly the way to get a man to talk," Jim said, opening the orange juice and putting it next to Blair's plate. "Dan didn't find any broken bones. That's usually on the agenda with those types."  
  
"Tell me about it," Blair mumbled around a mouthful of pizza.  
  
The home-baked pizza disappeared quickly. Even with his midday nap, Blair was hard pressed to keep his eyes open. His right arm was throbbing again, pressing against the cast as if trying to break out. When Jim set the white pill out next to the juice bottle, Blair didn't even comment. He downed the pill with the last of the juice and stood.   
  
"Night, Simon," Blair said.   
  
"Night, Sandburg."   
  
After finishing his nightly routine in the bathroom, Blair headed for Darryl's room. Jim was waiting inside.  
  
"I talked to Simon. He's going to send Joel to Rainier with you tomorrow. Can you cut your office hours down?" Jim waited until Blair had the sling off before reaching for his shirt. He lifted it carefully over Blair's head and worked it down off the cast.  
  
"Four hours?"  
  
"Two."  
  
"Three?"  
  
"Done."  
  
"Thanks, Jim." Blair left his jeans in a pile on the floor and crawled between the Incredible Hulk sheets with a yawn.   
  
"See you in the morning." Jim started building the pillow wall.  
  
"We going to the station in the morning?" Blair asked as he adjusted the pillow under his left ear.   
  
"Yeah, I've got other cases I need to catch up on," Jim said. "You up to coming in with me?"  
  
"Sure…" Blair's ability to think begin to slow down. The warmth of the blankets, the softness of the pillows and the relief of his arm being raised all combined to draw him towards the Land of Nod. He barely heard Jim speak as he fell asleep.  
  
"You never did tell me how you originally broke your arm."  
  
-------  
  
They were late to arrive at the station the next morning. Blair knew he was the reason. It just took twice as long to get ready in the morning. Simon had already left for work by the time Jim woke him. They had the house to themselves as they showered and ate a quick breakfast of cold cereal. It was just after nine when Blair followed Jim into the bullpen, each man carrying a mug of hot coffee.   
  
"What the heck?" Jim asked the room at large.  
  
A large basket of baked goods sat on Jim's desk. A large blue bow was tied to the wicker handle. Muffins, scones and donuts overflowed from within its confines. It was obviously affecting the men and women of Major Crime as they tried to work with the intoxicating smell of baked goods permeating throughout the room.  
  
A small card was tied by a narrow blue silky ribbon to the handle. Jim opened the card up and read out loud. "For you kindness and hard work, Saint Peter's Church."  
  
"Jim! You gonna share the wealth, man?" Henri exited Simon's office with a beaming smile. "A real cutie dressed in Mother Earth threads left this for you this morning. Said she worked with a Father Clark."  
  
Blair covered a blossoming smile with his left hand. That secretary from the church had it bad for Jim.   
  
"Help yourselves, in fact, take it into the break room. I've got work to do." Jim waved at the basket, snagging a buttermilk donut and a blueberry muffin before Henri removed the treats. "Here, Sandburg and not one word."  
  
The muffin was delicious.   
  
They worked side by side for several hours. Jim's typing skills were nowhere as fast at Rhonda's but he wasn't shabby. Jim pulled out his small notebook filled with case notes, referring to it as he typed. Blair grabbed a red pen out from a desk drawer and went to work proof reading as Jim printed out his reports, considerably slower as he tried scribbling left-handedly. Just after eleven, they had everything about the case written up, proofed, edited and ready to deliver to Simon's office.  
  
The Captain was elbow deep in paperwork of his own. His phone was cradled against his ear by a shoulder; both sleeves were rolled up his forearms. Spotting the report in Jim's hand, he pointed to his in-basket with a pen.  
  
"Very good, sir. Thank you. I'll let you know, good-bye." He returned the phone to its base. "I was just going to ask you for that, Jim. How are your other cases doing?"  
  
"Good. I was going to start on them next. Is Joel still available to escort Sandburg to Rainier?" Jim asked, letting the report rest on the top tray.  
  
"I spoke to the Chief. He agrees the attack in your loft is related to your current case. He's willing to authorize the additional protection." Simon turned to Blair. "You make sure to follow Joel's orders. Am I clear?"  
  
Blair nodded, starting to feel a little guilty for keeping his office hours. Anyway, what could happen? He was going to be at a crowded college university. It wasn't like he was walking through a dark alley on the seedy side of town by himself. "Gotcha, Simon."  
  
"See that you do." Simon leaned back in his chair and slipped his case of cigars out from a desk drawer. "So, what's with the Betty Crocker routine on your desk this morning, Detective?"  
  
"Jim's got a girlfriend," Blair sang softly, ended with a snicker and dodging a gentle backhand from his friend.  
  
"It's just the secretary from the church Father Nathan belonged to," Jim explained. "She was upset the other day and Blair and I took her out for coffee. Actually, she was the first one to tell us about Teresa Reano." Jim pointed to the report. "It's all in there."  
  
Simon beamed. "She bakes a mean scone with raspberry filling." He gave the men in his office a lopsided grin. "I helped myself before you arrived. Captain's prerogative."   
  
"Understood, sir." Jim grinned. "You up for some Mexican for lunch?"  
  
"Absolutely." Simon checked his watch. "Give me another forty-five minutes and we'll leave. Oh, and give me your truck key. I'll have one of the uniforms bring it down to the station for you."  
  
Jim dug into his pant's pocket and nodded. "Thanks. I for one will be glad when everything gets back to what passes for normal around here."  
  
After lunch Blair found himself sitting in Joel's car on his way to Rainier. Joel drove slowly through the wet streets. Up until noon, the clouds seemed content to drop a heavy mist down on the city. Now they deposited large raindrops that hit the asphalt so hard, the water bounced in a little dance.   
  
Classes were normally light on Friday. Blair realized as he surveyed the nearly empty parking lot that the rain must have caused a higher than normal absenteeism today. Guilt weighted heavily on his shoulders.  
  
"Don't go there, Blair," Joel said with a chuckle.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I can practically hear your thoughts," Joel told him as he killed his engine. "You're thinking up reasons to send me back to the station."  
  
"Joel, man. This is stupid," Blair said, running his left hand up and down the sling nervously. "Nothing's going to happen to me."  
  
"You're correct. Because I'm here to see it doesn't."  
  
"You're gonna be so bored."  
  
Joel reached over his seat, bringing forward two furled umbrellas and handing one to Blair. "I ever tell you about the time I did a stakeout at a golf course?"  
  
Blair chuckled, checking to make sure his backpack had all its zippers closed before sliding a strap over his left shoulder. "No, don't think I've heard that one."  
  
They walked towards Hargrove Hall side by side, twin black umbrellas bumping gently together. It felt good to be back on campus, like returning to visit an old friend. Blair loved his work with Jim, but a part of him only seemed to feel at peace at the university.   
  
"Yeah, I actually got paid to watch the grass grow," Joel said with a deep laugh.  
  
----------------------  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Sandburg."   
  
"You're welcome, Bruce." Blair stood as the student rose and gathered up his notebooks in both arms. "Just keep at it, and this time, don't wait until the night before to work on it. Set aside at least an hour a night for your assignments. Just turn off that idiot box during the sitcoms, okay?"  
  
The student snickered. "You got it. I promise this won't happen again."  
  
After the student was gone, Joel set his magazine aside and stretched his arms out. "You done?"  
  
"Yep, that should be all of them," Blair said checking the clock on his computer screen. "Wow! It's late. I thought Jim said he'd be here before four."  
  
"He did. Something must have come up." Joel stood.   
  
Blair picked up his phone. "I'll call." After dialing both Jim's cell phone and work numbers, he set the phone down with a frown.  
  
"Try Simon," Joel suggested.  
  
"Okay." This time the connection went through right away.   
  
"Captain Banks' office."  
  
"Hi, Rhonda. Is Jim there?" Blair asked.  
  
"Ah… no. I think he left about an hour ago," Rhonda answered.  
  
"Did he say where he was going? He's not answering his cell."  
  
"Let me ask Simon."  
  
Blair waited as he overheard the conversation between the secretary and police captain. A tendril of fear grew in his chest.   
  
"Sandburg?"   
  
"Simon, where's Jim?"  
  
"He told me over an hour ago he was on his way to pick you up," Simon said with almost an accusing tone. "We're checking with dispatch now. Is Joel there?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Put him on."  
  
Handing the phone over, Blair realized too late he'd just allowed himself to be taken out of the loop. Now reduced to watching Joel's face for clues and hearing only half the conversation, Blair fiddled one-handedly with the tape dispenser on his desk.   
  
"Simon?" Joel bent his head and studied the floor as he listened. "Ah huh… right, sir. I understand. No, everything was quiet on this end. Nothing whatsoever… okay." Brown eyes flicked briefly to Blair, as if making sure his assignment was still in the office with him. He was obviously waiting for something. Then his eyes snapped back to the floor; Simon was back on line. The news wasn't good. Joel's shoulders slumped from whatever Simon had told him. "Okay, we're on our way."  
  
Not waiting for the cop to hang up, Blair gripped his arm. "What?"  
  
"Don't get worked up, Blair."  
  
"Joel, come on, man! What happened to Jim?" Blair nearly shouted in frustration.   
  
"We don't know, kid. Dispatch can't raise him."   
  
"What does that mean?" Panic flooded his bloodstream, pumped in by a turbo-charged heart. "No one knew what he was driving, right?"  
  
"Simon said he took his truck," Joel explained, looking around the office. "Do you have everything? We need to get back to the station."  
  
"But, what are they doing to find Jim?"   
  
"We've got an APB out on his Ford, Blair." Joel picked up the leather pack from the floor and headed for the door. "Come on."  
  
This was a nightmare. Blair's brain was trapped in a mental tornado, his fears and insecurities spinning around and around. A constant thought weaved throughout - this was Blair's fault. If he hadn't insisted on keeping his office hours, Jim wouldn't have been on his way out to meet him, alone.  
  
"Blair!" Joel stood in the open doorway, his hand on the knob. "Let's go."  
  
------------  
  
Sharp spikes of pain drilled into Jim's skull, somewhere above his eyes, directly in the middle of his forehead. Jim groaned in misery. His thoughts disjointed, fractured images of swirling colors and flashes of light tormented him. His stomach made its unhappiness known. The light show was doing a number on him. He felt sick. He was going to lose his lunch.  
  
"Easy… it's going to be okay. Roll over, just in case."  
  
Strong hands turned him, just in time. Eyes still squeezed closed in pain, he emptied his stomach and shivered. A cool, damp terrycloth cleaned his face when he finished. Jim winced as the individual loops of cotton seemed to tear at his skin.  
  
"Easy."  
  
"…Blair…"  
  
-----------------  
  
"If you don't park your butt in a seat, mister, I'll park it for you, in a cell."  
  
Blair wanted to scream. Jim had been officially declared missing now for twelve hours. And Simon wouldn't let him out of his sight. They'd been holed up in the man's office all night. To make matters worse, Simon had turned into the watcher from hell.  
  
"Simon, I'm telling you, we need to arrest Reano!"   
  
"I'd love to, Sandburg. Only I lack a little matter called 'probable cause," Simon answered, matching volume for volume. He pointed a long, dark finger at an office chair. "Sit!"  
  
Intellectually, Blair knew it was the lack of sleep, the lack of good food, too much caffeine and way, way too much sugar – but he still wanted to take that finger and bend it backwards until it snapped off.  
  
He was saved from a trip to the holding cell by Simon's phone. The captain answered instantly, not even letting it finish the first ring.  
  
"Banks!"  
  
Releasing a shaky breath, Blair forced himself to calm down. He paced the office, ending up at the window. The early light was trying to filter through the rain clouds, the wet street below empty. Where was everyone? Some people were sleeping in. Others might have already driven over the mountains to Eastern Washington to find sunshine. Blair rubbed his head, angry with himself for having stupid thoughts. Only one question really mattered here; where was Jim?  
  
"I'm on my way. Don't touch anything." Simon slammed the phone down and raised his voice. "Brown!"  
  
Henri was in the doorway before his boss could draw air back into his lungs. "Yes, sir?"  
  
"You're with me, that APB just paid off." Simon pulled his small handgun out of a desk drawer and pushed it into his holster.  
  
Scooping up his backpack, Blair was ready. "Jim's Ford?"  
  
"No," Simon answered, looking at Blair as if remembering he had a civilian observer to deal with. "The dead priest's Toyota was just found outside the city limits, in a gravel pit."  
  
Disappointed, Blair edged away from the door. "Oh… I'll just stay here and wait."  
  
"Like hell, Sandburg!" Simon growled, shrugging into his raincoat. "You're coming."  
  
Rebellion raised a sleepy head and whispered into Blair's ear. Simon wasn't 'his' boss. He was a civilian. He didn't even have to be at the station. Hell, he could be out there right now, searching for Jim. He didn't need anyone's permission.  
  
"I'm giving you a choice, kid. You ride with me or I drag you downstairs to that holding cell I was warning you about."  
  
Rebellion decided to go back to sleep. "I'm with you," Blair answered evenly, heading out when the taller man made small impatient motions with his hand.  
  
For now, anyway.  
  
The gravel pit was next to a railroad track, miles outside of Cascade's city limits. It was far enough off the road not to be seen by passing motorist. Apparently, it was the dark column of smoke that had caught the reporting party's eye. When Simon arrived and parked his car, the pit was already crowded with a fire engine, two county sheriff's cars and a county fire investigator. Everyone's attention was on the remains of a compact size Toyota Celica.  
  
"Oh, man," Blair groaned as he saw the extensive damage. "We're gonna get jack squat from that car!"  
  
The rain was slacking off again, back to a heavy mist. Blair followed Simon and Henri to the Fire Investigator's SUV. A pleasant looking man in green overalls stood at the open rear hatch, putting away an expensive looking camera. After the men introduced themselves, they got down to business.  
  
"Nothing much left to look at, Captain," the investigator told them. "We ran the license plate and got a hit on your APB. Who knows how long it sat back here before some kid decided to torch it."  
  
"You believe kids did this?" Simon asked.  
  
"We've been having a real problem the last few months."  
  
"Mind if we take a look?"   
  
The county official shook his head. "I'm finished here anyway. If you'd like, I'll fax a copy of my report to your department."  
  
"Thanks. That would be great." Simon told the man.  
  
Blair could see the car was totaled, a blackened hull of its former existence. Not even the original color of the paint could be determined. Both the front hood and back trunk stood open, probably by the firemen as they worked to put out the fire. There would be no fingerprints, no letters of confession, no nothing.   
  
"Coming?" Simon asked him.  
  
"Nah, I'll wait in the car," Blair replied gloomily. He watched the two Cascade cops walk around the firemen rolling up the fire hoses to put back on the truck.  
  
A nearby slam of a SUV's rear hatch startled him out of his dreary thoughts. The Fire Investigator was getting ready to leave. Blair got an idea.  
  
"You heading back to your office?"  
  
"Yep, back to Cascade. Why, need a ride?"  
  
Blair grinned as he realized Simon and Henri were totally involved in looking over the burned car. This was perfect. Simon was not going to be happy with him, but Blair figured the man would have to catch him first.  
  
-------------------------  
  
Not even the flavor of his best cigar could lift the dark mood draped over Simon Banks. This car had been burned down to the metal frame, leaving no clues behind. It wasn't just a murder investigation anymore. His best detective and close friend was missing. Even though he had to put the skids on Blair's enthusiasm to arrest the crime boss, Simon agreed that Jim's disappearance had something to do with Reano. He had a friend in the FBI working hard on gathering everything the Feds had on the man. With luck, they should know something this afternoon.  
  
"Simon, look at this."   
  
Henri had been searching the gravel in a widening circular pattern around the car while he'd been talking with the firemen. None of them could say how long the car might have sat out here. "What do you have?" Simon asked, going to the detective's side.  
  
"What do you think?" he asked, holding out his gloved hand to reveal a small bead.  
  
It looked identical to the bead found in the skeleton's coat pocket. "Great work, Henri," Simon told him. Maybe the man had a little of Jim's sentinel abilities. What would it be like to have an entire crew of full sentinels? Simon chomped on his cigar as he puffed, wondering how many Sandburgs he'd need to keep them all from doing the little mini coma bit Jim sometimes fell into.  
  
"I don't think we'll find anything else. You ready to head back?" Henri dropped the wooden bead into a small plastic baggie and marked it with a felt pen.  
  
Simon nodded, checking his watch. He hadn't realized the time. The fire engine was long gone. One county police officer was left, patiently waiting for them to finish. He waved to the officer as they headed back to where he'd left his car.   
  
"You think Ellison is still alive?" Henri asked quietly.  
  
"It's been less then twenty-four hours," Simon answered, keeping his own voice low. "Jim said the man was obsessed in finding his daughter. Jim doesn't know where she is. If Reano did take him, he'd keep Jim alive to get the information."  
  
The rain was falling hard again, making the wet gravel hard to walk on. Simon kept his eyes down, not wanting to fall.  
  
"I thought Sandburg was waiting in the car?"  
  
"He was." Simon wrenched open the driver's door, bending in to see the car was empty. He straightened to look around at the evergreen forest that surrounded the large pit. "Sandburg!"  
  
The deputy was driving past them. He stopped and rolled down his car window. "That long haired guy left with the Fire Investigator right after you guys got here," the man informed them helpfully before leaving.  
  
"Simon, why would he do that?" Henri asked in confusion.  
  
Barely keeping his temper in check, Simon answered as he climbed in and slammed the door forcefully. "Son of a… he went after Reano!"  
  
------------------  
  
Blair blessed his near photographic memory. Well, that might be a bit strong. He just knew he was really, really good at remembering things. He'd studied Reano's files at Simon's house that first day and remembered the crime boss' home address. The trick was getting the Fire Investigator to drop him off on a major bus route before Simon figured out he'd escaped. What with radio communications with outside agencies so easily obtained, the Captain only needed to make a call to dispatch to reach them. Thankfully, no contact was made and Blair got dropped off as requested.  
  
He had caught a bus within five minutes of waiting. Pulling on the metal wire running the full length of the bus, Blair stood and made his way to the rear exit. It was also handy knowing the bus schedules by heart. That had nothing to do with a good memory and everything to do with having a car that had its own idea of what reliable meant.  
  
A half hour walk got him to the front gate of Reano's estate. White painted thick pillars of brick framed a high iron gate. A number pad on a metal post waited for drivers to punch in the proper code for entry. Only, Blair had no idea what to punch. He peered through the iron bars. The rain was falling, making it hard to see down the drive. He could see a vague outline of a colossal-sized house in the mist. Maybe if he walked the perimeter of the man's property and followed the high brick wall, he'd find a way in. In the James Bond movies, Bond just slipped over the wall. They always made it look so easy.  
  
"Man, this guy must have his own zip code!" Blair mumbled, pushing wet hair back from his eyes as he ducked under another low cedar branch. So far, he'd seen no way in. He'd been walking for what seemed like hours. Something told him he hadn't even reached the halfway mark. Reano's property must extend on this side of the wall as well, forming a greenbelt between his place and the neighbor's property.  
  
A snapping sound caused Blair to turn suddenly.  
  
Four men stood behind him in a half circle. They had the hard look of soldiers, devoid of humor. Blair made sure to keep his movements to a minimum, knowing these guys were dangerous and not wishing a demonstration.  
  
"You're trespassing," one of the civilian dressed soldiers stated flatly.  
  
Blair licked his lips, his mind racing. How should he play this? Act dumb? Would they buy it? There was no doubt these walking GI Joes worked for Ethan Reano. It occurred to him that his and Jim's pictures had already been shown to all of Reano's employees by now.   
  
Well, he had wanted to get in.  
  
"Take me to Reano," Blair demanded, silently amazed that his voice remained squeak-free. His knees were about to turn into Jell-O.  
  
"You're in no position to demand anything," the same person responded. He looked older than the other three and Blair pegged him as the guy in charge.  
  
"Oh yeah? I hate to be in your shoes, man, when he finds out he had a chance to talk with one of the guys working with the police on trying to find his daughter and you kept me out." It was an empty threat, because Blair didn't really have any information. He just wanted inside. If Jim was being held somewhere inside, maybe he could slip away and look for him. Hell, who was he kidding? Still, if he could just talk to Reano, make the man see the stupidity of holding Jim…  
  
"Walk," the leader ordered, pointed down the wall over Blair's shoulder. Toward the direction Blair had been heading.  
  
"So… we're going to see Reano?"  
  
"Walk or be carried."  
  
"Walking is good." Blair turned and headed off in the designated direction, acutely aware of the sounds of the four men behind them. How in the world had they managed to creep up on him? The wet underbrush was thick with blackberry vines and Oregon grape brush. These guys were obviously skilled covert stuff like Jim.   
  
An iron gate appeared ahead in the wall. Mr. Walk-Or-Be-Carried punched in a number sequence on a recessed ten-key pad and the gate swung open on perfectly oiled hinges. Inside the wall, the grounds were landscaped like a pro golf course. Blair was shoved forward and they began to walk up a gentle grassy incline.   
  
------------  
  
Simon smoked like a chimney when he was furious. Ignoring Henri's polite coughs, he cracked his window a little, enduring the rain in a meager effort to release some of the blue smoke from the interior of the car. Some idiot semi driver had jackknifed his rig on the road two miles ahead and they were caught in the back up.  
  
There was nothing to do but sit and wait for the traffic jam to break. Simon had already contacted the Fire Marshall's office. The investigator had been contacted and relayed that he'd dropped Blair off downtown. Another call to the station had told them the missing grad student never showed up.  
  
"You think he went after Reano?" Henri asked, breaking the silence.   
  
Simon nodded, so angry he didn't trust himself to speak.   
  
"Why would he do something that stupid? I don't get it," Henri continued almost to himself. "I mean, sure, Blair's okay and all. But he's in this for his thesis, right? Closed societies? I know they're roommates and friends, but no one with half a brain would walk up to a suspected organized crime boss and ask if he kidnapped a cop."  
  
Simon nearly bit his cigar in two. Never before did the desire to share Jim and Blair's secret to another person feel this strong. He longed to share his burden of knowledge with another living soul.   
  
The red brake lights ahead flicked off and traffic began to move forward. Simon returned his attention to his driving, ignoring his subordinate's comments. He let himself think of what he'd say to Blair when he caught up to him.   
  
Too bad Jim wouldn't be there to protect the kid.  
  
----------------  
  
Reano stood, legs slightly apart, breathing hard. Dressed in grey sweats, he looked up from his task of pummeling a suspended punching bag senseless.  
  
Wonderful, Blair thought to himself as he was shoved into an indoor gymnasium, Reano turns out to be a wannabe Rocky boxer. Taking his time to memorize the large room with its high gloss wooden floor and its thirty foot high ceiling, Blair ignored the man and wondered how much a house like this cost. It would take him all day to search for Jim. The place was huge.  
  
"Who the hell is this?" Reano demanded, lifting the black towel from around his neck and blotting the sweat from his face.  
  
"We found him walking the perimeter, boss. Says he's with the police, knows about Teresa," the man shoving Blair along said.  
  
Reano dropped the towel into a nearby bin and eyed Blair with open curiosity, his eyes falling on the cast. A slow grin spread over his face. "Mr. Sandburg."  
  
Blair felt an instant dislike for the man. "Where's Jim?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Jim Ellison, detective with Major Crime? Your men visited our place a few days ago, conveyed a few vague threats about us finding your daughter?" Blair rolled his left hand in the air in a circular motion as if urging a student to respond with the correct answer to an essay question. "Any of this ringing bells?"  
  
Reano responded with an angry look, his eyes narrowing with disapproval. "You are not very intelligent, Mr. Sandburg. Look around you. Do you think I'm a man that allows anyone to disrespect me in this manner?"  
  
"Frankly, Reano, I don't give a shit," Blair responded. "I'm not a cop. I don't care if you call the Mayor or the President, even. You can't get me fired. I just want Jim."  
  
Reano rolled his eyes. "What makes you think I even have him?"  
  
"He's missing."  
  
"So?"  
  
Blair blinked. The guy seemed truly baffled. Frowning, Blair looked around. "You don't have him?"  
  
Pure amazement warred with disbelief on Reano's face. Suddenly, a deep rumble of laughter boiled up from the man, filling the large room. After a few seconds, the guy actually wiped his eyes.   
  
Blair got pissed. "You done?"  
  
More laughter.  
  
Blair was seriously getting mad. He wished he had two good arms so he could cross them. He settled for an annoyed look.  
  
"Oh, God!" Reano gasped with a snort. "You're priceless! The cops have no idea you're even here, do they?"  
  
Blair started to answer then closed his mouth with a snap, not sure which answer benefited him in his current situation. Reano responded with more laughter.   
  
"Listen, Chuckles," Blair said hotly. "If you did something with Jim, you took out the best chance of finding your daughter!"  
  
Reano nodded his head in agreement, taking an obvious effort to sober up. "I already figured that much out, kid." He shook his head and looked at his men as if sharing some private joke. "Come on, I need a drink."  
  
Blair had no choice but to follow him down a long hallway, through several rooms that seemed to have no purpose except to hold large, ugly paintings and stupid looking vases. Finally they all ended up in a sitting room with a long chrome and red lacquered wet bar along the far wall.  
  
"What can I fix you, Mr. Sandburg?" Reano stepped behind the bar and started setting out bottles of amber colored liquid and glasses.  
  
"Nothing… maybe some water," Blair said.  
  
Reano nodded, taking a glass to the small sink and filling it was water from a fancy chrome faucet. "I gotta tell you, you've got guts. When Ellison came to my office and warned me what would happen if…" the man nodded his head at Blair leaving the rest unspoken as he set the glass out on the bar, "… I figured you were some helpless wimp. I even took the time to check into the two of you. You ride with Ellison for your dissertation, right?"  
  
Blair picked up the glass and took a long drink. All this was making him extremely thirsty. It was becoming very obvious he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion here. Jim wasn't with this guy. Which begged the question, how the heck to get away?  
  
"I've got a few, ah, contacts with the department. I know about Kincaid and Lash. Nasty stuff. Then you had those run-ins with Brackett and Hector Carasco." His own drink prepared to his liking, Reano took a big gulp and saluted Blair with his glass. "Serious shit, kid. But you and Ellison come out smelling like roses. I'm thinking the two of you are just the guys to find my daughter."  
  
"What if she doesn't want to be found, man?" Blair asked, finishing his water and returning the glass.  
  
Reano grew serious, leveling Blair with an honest gaze. "Just tell her… tell her to call me. She can continue to do whatever it is she's doing, okay? I just want to know she's okay."  
  
Blair could almost see the change. Reano was stripped to the bare, all pretense of power gone. This was a father in pain. Without meaning to, Blair's soul responded to the pain. "Yeah… I can tell her that for you," he whispered, then added with certainty, "but I need to find Jim first. If you didn't take him, who did?"  
  
Reano blinked again, looking at the two men guarding the doorway in stunned amazement. "Can you believe this guy?" he muttered, looking again at Blair. "Okay, okay. Let's pretend – just for the sake of argument – that I'm some big bad guy that would have a cop kidnapped. I didn't, okay?"  
  
Blair nodded. "I get that, man. So, who did?"  
  
Reano tossed his hands out in an exasperated gesture, reminding Blair of Simon. "Oh, hell? I don't know! What about the guy responsible for snuffing the priest and stuffing him inside that wall?"  
  
"That wasn't you either?" Blair asked.  
  
"No!" Reano bellowed. "I can't believe I'm even having this conversation! My attorney would shit a brick if he even knew!"  
  
Blair slumped in defeat. This was very disappointing. He was back to square one and no clue where to look next. "Damn, you were my only suspect."  
  
Reano snorted. "Sorry to disappoint you, kid! Now sit down before you fall down and break that arm for a third time." He waved a hand at his men. "Go get him a towel. He's dripping all over my floor."  
  
--------------------  
  
Simon waited at the front door. The large mansion looked unreal in the dull, filtered light of the storm. Rain pelted the walkway and circular drive behind him. A gothic fountain was filled to overflowing in the middle of the landscaped patch. He had opted to drive straight to Reano's rather than take time for a search warrant. To his shock and amazement, the front gate to the posh estate was standing open. As Henri moved to lean on the door buzzer again, the front door swung in to reveal a tall man with a crew cut and a leather jacket that Simon suspected hid a holstered firearm.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Captain Banks, Cascade Police." Simon showed his ID. "This is Detective Brown. We're here to see Ethan Reano."  
  
"This way." The man swept an arm in invitation.  
  
Barely acknowledging the rooms as they walked through, Simon couldn't help but visually search for evidence Jim might have been held somewhere inside these walls. As if Reano would leave his friend's Jags cap on a chair or something. He saw nothing.  
  
"Simon!"  
  
"Blair?"  
  
Blair was sitting on a black leather sofa, a red-black plaid towel around his neck. The kid looked exhausted, both eyes bloodshot, his face dark with a five o'clock shadow. Simon's eyes immediately went to the cast, it looked in one piece.  
  
"And you are?"   
  
Simon recognized Ethan Reano instantly from the Fed's file. "Captain Banks, Major Crime," he answered, keeping his voice as neutral as he could.   
  
"Then this one belongs to you." The man nodded his head toward Blair. "My men found him trespassing. We've been having a chat. You've saved me from calling for someone to come get him. As you can see, he's hardly in any condition to walk back to your police station."  
  
Simon could see. He watched Blair struggle to his feet, managing to look like a guilty teenager who had snuck into a movie theater without buying a ticket. "You okay, Blair?"  
  
"Yeah," Blair said, his gaze sliding off Simon's face to study a large painting of red circles on the wall. Simon didn't have to be a sentinel to see the way he swayed on his feet.  
  
Simon turned back to Reano. "Are you pressing charges?"  
  
"No," the crime boss answered with what Simon would have sworn was fond amusement on his face.  
  
What the hell happened here?  
  
"Since I'm here," Simon began. "I'd like to ask a few questions."  
  
Reano held up a hand. "Stop. You can call my office on Monday and make an appointment with my secretary. She'll check my attorney's schedule and set something up if you insist. Now… if you would be so kind as to drive Mr. Sandburg home or wherever, it is Saturday and I have appointments."  
  
Simon nodded impatiently, not surprised with the response. "Come on, Sandburg." He watched Blair fold the towel neatly and hand it to one of Reano's men before walking out with Henri at his side. With one last nod to Reano, Simon followed.  
  
He waited until they were through the main gate before pulling over onto the gravel shoulder, releasing his seatbelt and twisting around to pin Blair with an angry look. "What the hell were you thinking?"  
  
"Si---" Blair started.  
  
"No! Don't EVEN try it, Mister!" Simon cut him off. "I can't believe you just waltzed into that man's home! He could have arranged your body to be diced into little cubes to fertilize his yard, you idiot!"  
  
"Sir," Henri interrupted gently. "He was just thinking about Jim."  
  
"No, I don't think so," Simon retorted hotly. "He wasn't thinking at all!" Taking a second to calm down, Simon drew a deep breath and counted to five.   
  
Ten was just not possible. He hadn't been this mad since he caught Darryl with a six pack of beer. The short timeout helped and Simon felt his blood pressure return to somewhere close to normal again. He took a hard look at the person in his back seat.  
  
Blair was huddled against the door, his body curled around his broken arm. His wet hair and equally soaked coat and jeans made him look like a riverfront homeless runaway. Pain was evident on the young man's face. And Simon suspected not all of it was from the arm.   
  
"Look," Simon continued in a softer tone, aware he was still sounded gruff and angry. But, damn it all, he had to make him see how dangerous the situation had been. "I know you just want to find Jim. We all do, okay? But you can't ditch us like that. And for Christ's sake! Don't go running into the lion's den!"  
  
Blair raised his chin, his face looking stubborn and ready to break at the same time. "Reano doesn't have Jim."  
  
"And, you know this – how?" Simon asked.  
  
"He told me."  
  
Simon could only stare at the young man in total bewilderment.   
  
--------  
  
A hand brushed against his forehead and Jim cried out in pain. Every inch of his skin hurt, as if someone had dressed him in steel wool. Pain marched around his skull, wandered up and down his spine, playing havoc on his rib cage whenever he breathed.   
  
"It's okay… you're going to get better. Drink this."  
  
Someone lifted his head and bitter tasting warm tea was poured into his mouth. Trying to open his eyes, the light drove hot spikes into his head and he choked. With a groan he moved into a fetal position, enduring the scouring effect it caused on his body.  
  
He wanted to die.  
  
-------  
  
Blair was seriously tired and if Simon hit one more bump in the road, he was going to puke. Drawing deep breaths in through his nose, he cradled his bulky right arm close and smiled. That would finish it, puking in Simon's back seat. The man would have a melt down.  
  
The car stopped. Looking up from his pain-dulled contemplation of his knees, he saw they were back at Simon's, waiting for the garage door to open.   
  
Crap.  
  
"What are we doing here? Did you forget something?" he asked.  
  
Simon drove into the garage and killed the engine. The heavy double-wide door began its trek downward behind them with a deep rumble.  
  
"We can spare a few hours to recharge our batteries." Simon opened the door and stepped out.  
  
"What!" Scrambling to exit, Blair ignored his own pain and cut the captain off before he could get into his house. "We've got to find Jim! We don't have time for this."  
  
"Sandburg." Simon laid a surprisingly gentle hand on the younger man's shoulder. He paced his words out, "You are exhausted. I am exhausted. We can't find Jim if we're falling over chairs and running into walls."  
  
Blair liked the cop better when he was yelling at him; at least he had energy. Shrugging off the hand, Blair couldn't help but wince. "Fine! Then I'll go alone. Reano's men aren't trying to follow us anymore; he called them off. So don't go quoting that protective custody crap!" He tried brushing past the bigger man to get into the house, with plans to change his wet clothes and split. He didn't make it. The hand was back, holding him in a hard grip.   
  
"You're not going anywhere."  
  
"You can't stop me."   
  
"Yes… I can."  
  
Blair had obtained equality by standing on the top step that led into Simon's kitchen. Both men stood nose to nose, staring hard at the other. It had been a long time since Blair had felt this much anger. He wanted to hit something or someone. Anger seemed to boil within.   
  
A feeling of panic hit. This wasn't just anger…  
  
Blair never knew how Simon figured it out. Maybe it was the fact he was a father with previous experience or maybe Blair's face had turned a funny shade of green. Whatever the reason, Blair was practically lifted off his feet and rushed into the house to be dumped in front of a toilet.   
  
Just in time, too. The earlier evidence of bitter coffee and too many pastries eaten without thought hit the inside of the bowl in a violent wave of vomit. Blair's head was pounding by the time the ordeal was over. His throat was on fire. On his knees with one hand on the seat of the toilet, he felt emptied out, useless and painfully aware that he missed Jim.  
  
To his ultimate horror, his eyes filled with hot tears.   
  
"Blair?" Simon's voice sounded gentle and completely baffled, all the normal gruffness gone. "You okay?"  
  
A wet wash cloth passed over Blair's face. The captain of Major Crime was crouched at his side, crowded into the small space of his bathroom taking care of a civilian observer that normally he'd rather yell at. Blair peeked up at Simon's face, expecting disgust, but not finding it. Simon looked perfectly normal, like the two of them had meetings in front of toilet bowls all the time. It would be funny; except for the fact Blair was losing a battle with the sobs that rose up from his gut, causing him to tremble like a wino in detox. He fell over onto his hip, pulling his knees in close to his chest and tried to bury his hot face into the crook of his left arm.  
  
"Go…away," he pleaded brokenly. Damn, even his voice was falling apart.  
  
Only Simon didn't listen, he got closer. Blair's humiliation couldn't grow anymore profound. He couldn't remember a time his body had betrayed him this completely. Tears refused to obey, they fell from his eyes, his breath was getting that stupid hitch he used to get when he was seven and – shit – his nose was clogging up and snot was starting to drip.  
  
"Blair, it's okay," Simon coaxed.  
  
With his face burrowed into the wet sleeve of his coat, Blair had to disagree.   
  
"Listen, kid. This is just your body saying 'enough.' Understand? It's reached the end of the rope."   
  
A large hand was patting his shoulder.   
  
"Simon? Everything okay?"  
  
"Wait in the kitchen, H," Simon hollered over his shoulder. "We're fine."   
  
The sound of flushing water filled the bathroom and Blair welcomed the sound, any sound that covered the pathetic sobs his body was forcing out against his will. At least he was being spared the additional humiliation of being on display to Brown.   
  
"Stop fighting, just get it out. You'll feel better, I promise," Simon told him frankly.   
  
Blair took the advice. A few minutes later, he felt a mass of softness pushed into his left hand. Tissue. Good idea, Blair realized to himself. He'd need to dryclean his coat; his sleeve was definitely needing it. After wiping his nose, his breathing back under control and the tears reduced to merely weighing down his eye lashes, Blair looked up.  
  
Simon was the picture of patience, sitting on the closed seat of the toilet, all previous signs of their fight gone. "Better?"  
  
"Yeah… shit, I'm sorry, man," Blair mumbled, using a clean side of the tissue to wipe his sleeve.  
  
"Me too."  
  
"I'm worried about Jim," he continued softly.  
  
"Yeah, me too," the big man sighed, rubbing his wide forehead. "Blair, Jim's a survivor. If we want to help him, we've got to use our heads. And I gotta tell you, my head is killing me right now. Let's give ourselves about five hours of sleep, okay? I'm going to call for a squad car to pick up Brown and take him to the station. He'll continue to work the case and let us know if anything breaks. We've got an unmarked car watching the loft, every possible base possible is covered, unless you and Reano came up with something new during your little chat?"  
  
Blair leaned his head back, resting on the glass closure of the bathtub he was sitting against. His face was starting to cool down. He had to admit, he did feel somewhat better. "Nah… he did admit to me his men had a hard time finding us and when they did, Jim must have sensed them and shook their tail, 'cause they kept losing him." He dropped his eyes and clenched his fingers around the tissue in his hand. "Jim's hurting, Simon. I can't really explain…it's like I can feel him."  
  
Simon scrubbed his face hard with both hands, holding any comments he might have to himself. The bathroom became quiet for a moment.  
  
"What do we do?" Blair asked.  
  
Shrugging, the cop looked down at Blair. "We go back over everything again. We don't have a choice. It's basic police work."  
  
"Okay." Blair nodded. It was a plan and since he didn't have one, he trusted Simon to know how these things were done.  
  
"After you eat a few crackers, take a pain pill and sleep."  
  
-------------  
  
"Sandburg!"  
  
The earthquake was getting bad now; Blair could barely stay on his feet. Somehow he had regained use of his broken arm and was trying desperately to pull Jim to safety. The cop was comatose, covered with red welts and barely breathing. Hell of a time to have an earthquake.   
  
"Wake up!"  
  
With a snort, Blair woke, his dream becoming just that – a dream. He was in Darryl's bed. His arm was still broken. Simon stood over him, obviously getting impatient.  
  
"Wha…"  
  
"Get dressed. We've got to leave."  
  
Clean jeans were tossed on top of the blankets. Blair sat up cautiously, surprised his arm didn't hurt. A glance at the small clock next to the bed told him why. He'd only been sleeping for just under an hour. The pain pill was still working strong. No wonder he was slow to climb out of that dream. Simon was retrieving tennis shoes from under the bed and rooting through the duffle bags, pulling out a pair of clean socks, talking the entire time.  
  
"Brown just called. Father Clark has been trying to get a hold of Jim. He finally contacted Major Crime. We've got to get over to the church."  
  
"W-why?" Blair struggled one handedly into his jeans. They'd been simple to take off an hour ago, but putting them on with only one working arm was another matter. Without asking for permission, Simon reached over and finished the job, ignoring Blair's startled yelp as he finished fastening the fly. Blair felt his face start to burn with embarrassment, but Simon was already onto another task, pulling out a sweater of Jim's and tossed it on the bed.   
  
"I'm not sure, he couldn't say over the phone. Only said it's about the case and it might be important. This may be the clue to finding Jim. I'm just going to get my wallet; can you meet me in the garage?" He eyed Blair critically. "You up for this?"  
  
"Ah… yeah, man," Blair stammered quickly. "I'm good. See you in the car."  
  
With a blur of motion, the cop was gone. Blair finished dressing, taking Jim's sweater last and pulling it over his head awkwardly. He had to stretch it some to get his right arm into it, but he managed. Finishing with the sling, he headed for the garage, socks and shoes in hand. He could put them on en route.   
  
Father Clark met them at the front door. It was raining lightly, just enough to keep the concrete walkways wet. The priest went so far as to check the church yard carefully before pulling them inside and leading them into his office. This time Blair noticed they used a passageway connecting the office to the large sanctuary where mass was held. Neither man had time to appreciate the rich wood gleaming with polish or the marble statues of the Saints that lined the walls. Cindy's desk was empty as Father Clark guided them towards his office, ushered them inside and closed the door.  
  
"Where's Detective Ellison?" the priest asked, looking at Blair for the answer.  
  
"Um… he's…" Blair looked up at Simon, unsure what to say. No one knew Jim was missing except those police personnel involved in the case.   
  
"Father Clark, I'm Captain Simon Banks." Simon held out his hand and greeted the priest formally. "I spoke to you on the phone. Detective Ellison's whereabouts at the moment are unknown. Frankly, we're hoping whatever you have to share might help us find him."  
  
"What? He's missing? Like Nathan?"   
  
An icy fist squeezed Blair's heart. Oh, God, please not like Father Nathan.  
  
"I certainly hope not," Simon responded fervently. "Now, what do you have for us?"  
  
"Oh! Of course!" The priest hurried to his computer setup in a corner of his office on a battered oak table. "Okay, please understand. I never knowingly withheld information from the police." He checked his watch and nodded as he woke the computer monitor from its automatic sleep mode and clicked on an internet connection. "After you both visited me, Mr. Sandburg, I received a cryptic message. I, ah, can't go into detail; you understand… anyway, I'm just a means to set up this interview."   
  
Blair noticed the small computer camera sitting on top of the monitor. The entire set up looked expensive and relatively high-tech, reminding him the members of the church must be very generous with their incomes. After a few moments, the connection was made and the screen showed a corner of a room with white, bare walls. The top of a wooden chair could be seen low on the screen.   
  
"Okay, we're here. I have Captain Banks and Blair Sandburg with me," Father Clark said in a loud, clear voice.  
  
"Where is Detective Ellison?" a young woman's voice asked over the computer speaker sitting on the table.  
  
"I'm afraid he's not available. Captain Banks is here on his behalf," Father Clark answered.  
  
Apparently, that bit of information did not go over well with the woman. The monitor remained empty and the speaker was quiet. Blair took a chance. Already guessing who was speaking, he moved in front of the camera.   
  
"Teresa? Is that you? Please talk to us. We're trying to find out who killed Father Nathan. They may have my partner, Jim Ellison. You might know something that would help us catch them." Blair heard scraping sounds on the floor behind him, like a chair being moved. Sure enough, he felt the chair bump against the back of his legs and he sat, knowing the camera should be able to capture his face now.   
  
The screen remained empty, but the woman's voice returned. She sounded distressed. "I-I think I know… who k-killed him. My…" She seemed unable to continue.  
  
"No," Blair leaned forward. "I think you're wrong, Teresa. I spoke to your father just this morning. He assured me he didn't do it. Or have it done. And I believe him, I really do."  
  
The words had a magical effect. A pretty girl appeared from off camera and took a seat, her sad, brown eyes daring to hope again. "You spoke with my father?"  
  
Blair nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind his left ear. "I did. He gave me a message for you. He just wants to know you're okay. He misses you. He promised me he wouldn't make you come home. He just doesn't want to be excluded from your life."  
  
She smiled, her chin trembling slightly. "God… I miss him, too. I hate what he does; b-but I love him."  
  
"Hey, isn't that what it's all about? Unconditional love?" Blair suggested, leaning forward. "Please, Teresa. Tell us about the day you met Father Nathan in that rendering plant. What happened?"  
  
-------  
  
Simon was simply amazed. Not only had Blair correctly guessed what this whole meeting was about and who was waiting on the other side of the link, but he managed to get the girl to open up and talk with them. Absentmindedly, he wondered what it would take to get the guy enrolled into the police academy.  
  
The young woman – Reano's only daughter, he guessed – looked off camera, as if waiting for some unknown decision. Then she looked back at Blair and began her tale.  
  
"I met Father Nathan at that place to pick up the papers I needed." She paused and swallowed before continuing. "He set up the entire thing for us – for me." She blushed and dropped her eyes. "I'm not very good at this."  
  
"It's okay, Teresa. Please don't stop," Blair urged gently.  
  
She chewed briefly on her lower lip, but nodded and continued. "I'd forgotten… something. So, we agreed to meet a few hours later at the same place. But when we...I got back…" her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes filled with tears. A young man appeared at her side, pulling her into a fierce hug. He looked at the camera as she turned to bury her face into his sweater.   
  
"He was dead. Shot once through the head. We found him on the floor." He squeezed Teresa to his chest as he spoke. "We had everything we needed. It was my decision to put him in the wall. There was nothing anyone could do for him anyway and I was afraid a police investigation would lead her old man to us. We thought for sure he was the one behind the murder."  
  
Blair leaned forward. "No one else was around?"  
  
The young man shook his head. "No, no one."  
  
"What about…did Father Nathan say anything, anything at all that might have suggested someone was after him?"  
  
Simon felt the only solid lead they had slipping away. Blair's questions were valid and as fine as any experienced cop could think up, but it was becoming painfully obvious these two kids had no idea who pulled that trigger back in August.  
  
They had reached another dead end.  
  
After getting the couple to promise they'd set up another internet talk in a few days, Blair ended the connection and helped Father Clark erase any evidence on his hard drive that might lead back to the young couple.   
  
Simon pulled a cigar out of his case and chewed on the end as he waited. Disappointment weighed heavy in the air.   
  
"Damn," Blair muttered softly, then looked guiltily over at the priest.  
  
Father Clark waved a hand in dismissal. "So, I take it that didn't really help."  
  
Simon dropped into a vacant chair. "Well, it does clear up a few matters. Like how the body got inside the wall. But we're still lacking a suspect. The only one we really had seems to have cleared his not so good name." He shot Blair a glance, catching the reluctant shrug from the man. "Nice job with the witness, by the way, Sandburg."  
  
"Thanks," Blair replied in surprise.  
  
"Nothing else turned up so far in your investigation?" Father Clark pressed. He looked slightly abashed as he continued. "I have to confess, I love a mystery. This one is personal, of course. But, still, if I can help in anyway…"  
  
Simon blew out a lungful of air as he rolled his cigar between his fingers and thumb. "Well, we don't have much in the way of what you'd call clues. We found a grocery receipt and some beads in Father Nathan's pockets."  
  
"And a restaurant stub in his apartment. For Gethro's. Now we know that connection," Blair added. "But we still don't know who cleaned out Father Nathan's apartment."   
  
"So far, no one had tried that with the loft," Simon added.  
  
"What type of bead did you find?" Father Clark asked.  
  
"I think it's a rosary bead," Blair said.  
  
Simon remembered the one that Henri had found that morning. It was still in his pocket. Maybe the priest could give them some further information. Forensics had already given their confirmation of Blair's theory. He pulled it out and handed it over the desk to the man. "This one was found by the burned out remains of Father Nathan's car."  
  
The priest let Simon drop the small bead into his palm. "His car? Burned? Oh, my… yes, this is a rosary bead." He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a long rosary. "These beads are common, I'm afraid. I have the same set. A parishioner returned recently from Italy with gifts for both of us, as well as for a few of her own friends that attend our services."  
  
Wonderful, another clue basically rendered impotent. Half the church probable owned exact duplicates. "Well, I guess we'll get out of your hair and back to the station," Simon announced, breaking up the meeting. "We do appreciate what you've done here."  
  
"What about the kids?" Father Clark asked, walking them to the door. "Are charges going to be filed against them?"  
  
Simon shook his head. "I can't say, but I'll talk to the DA's office. I think these are special circumstances, to say the least."   
  
"I'm glad you understand, Captain." Father Clark opened the door.  
  
A young woman sat behind the outer desk, maybe the secretary that Blair had been teasing Jim about. Simon remembered the baked goods as they passed. "Miss? Thank you for those treats you delivered the other day. They were delicious."  
  
She looked up in surprise, her face flushed with delight from the unexpected praise. She really was very pretty, Simon thought. Sort of like someone Blair would be interested in dating, maybe a little too old for him, though.  
  
"I'm glad you liked them," she answered.  
  
"Cindy's deserts would cause the most pious to sin," Father Clark said fondly. "I put on a pound just from their aroma."   
  
Simon smiled. "Lucky man. My secretary is efficient, but always on a diet. Never brings in any treats." He turned to the woman, noticing the way she nervously fingered her rosary. "Couldn't convince you to switch your allegiance to the police, could I?"  
  
She smiled, blushing deeply.  
  
"Thou shalt not steal, Captain Banks," Father Clark quoted, patting the woman's shoulder. "I'll call you about that meeting we talked about."  
  
"Thank you, sir." Simon nodded again to the woman and followed Blair through a side door that let them exit directly outside.   
  
As they reached the corner and turned, Blair pulled Simon to a stop.   
  
"Simon!" he hissed, his expression one of excitement. "OhmygodIcantbelieveit!"  
  
"Relax," Simon interrupted. "I was just kidding. I'd never replace Rhonda."  
  
"No!" Blair smacked him on the arm.  
  
"Sandburg!"   
  
"Listen to me!" Blair leaned out, checking the direction they'd just come from. "She had a rosary, man!"  
  
Simon nodded. "Riiight, I saw that. So?"  
  
"It was the exact same type of beads and…"  
  
"Whoa, didn't you hear the man? All the staff probably got them as gifts."  
  
"No! Not the secretary, Simon. She not even Catholic. But that's not the point. The beads, did you notice? The string was short."  
  
"What?" Simon wondered if Blair was spiking a fever. Maybe he'd been wrong to wake him and pull him back into this weather. He placed a hand on the younger man's forehead. "Let's get you out of this rain."  
  
Blair slapped his hand away.  
  
"That's twice, Rocky," Simon warned, pointing a finger at his companion's nose. "Stop hitting the Police Captain."   
  
"Simon, I'm serious. This is important." Blair snagged a handful of Simon's raincoat and tugged like a puppy with a rope toy. "A rosary is made up of beads in groups of ten. Always groups of ten, man. Hers was short! It's not a complete rosary!"  
  
Realization struck, like a two-by-four between the eyes. Simon sucked in his breath and pulled Blair back from the corner. "She restrung the beads," he finished with a hiss.  
  
"Exactly!"  
  
"She's the killer."  
  
"She's got Jim! Think about it, man. She was all goo-goo eyes the first time she saw him! We gotta go make her tell us where Jim is!"  
  
Simon snagged the sweater, reeling the smaller man back. "Hold it!" he whispered urgently. "No, we wait and watch. The hours were posted. The office closes in just under two hours. We'll check out her residence first. If Jim's not there, we'll follow her."  
  
Blair looked less than pleased. "How? We don't know where she lives."  
  
Simon rolled his eyes. "Cut me some slack, kid. I may not be a sentinel, but I'm a damn decent detective."  
  
--------------------  
  
Jim opened puffy eyelids and cursed, closing them abruptly. Where was he? Why did his entire body ache?   
  
He recognized the burning, itching sensation that marched up and down his arms. He was reacting to something on his skin. Damn these sentinel senses. What was the advantage when the slightest contact with some remote substance sent him into wacky land?  
  
Wait a minute?   
  
Jim pulled on his arms, ignoring the tingling for a moment.   
  
'Oh… wonderful,' he thought. He was gagged and tied hand and foot. Dialing down his vision, he cracked open his eyes and looked around, finding himself on his side on a bare mattress on an earthen floor in some sort of barn. He was in a corner, opposite a sturdy looking door. He could smell the musty dampness of the rain outside. He tested the ropes behind his back. Whoever had tied him up had done a decent job of it. He wasn't going anywhere soon and he seemed to be tethered to something solid.   
  
What had happened? His memory searched for the answer. He had been at the station with Simon. He'd left to pick up Blair at Rainier. Was he somewhere close by? Did they take him as well? No, wait… he'd never made it to the university.  
  
He'd seen Cindy on the sidewalk after he left the station, just like before. She was standing in the rain, getting wet and he'd stopped to offer her a lift. He didn't remember anything after that.  
  
-----------------  
  
"This is taking too long, man."  
  
"Patience, Sandburg, patience."  
  
Blair chewed the inside of his cheek, keeping the comment for that little tidbit to himself. He wanted action, not sitting. But there was no point in telling that to the man next to him. Simon had already explained in crystal clarity why they shouldn't walk back into the church and confront Cindy. They simply did not have enough for an arrest. If they tipped their hand this early, she could clam up, disappear, and they'd never find Jim.  
  
"Look, there she is," Simon said, looking out the windshield.   
  
They were parked half a block down the street. Sure enough, Blair could see the familiar form of the woman walking briskly down the sidewalk. She was dressed in the same cape she'd had on that time they'd picked her up outside the station. "Looks like she's leaving early today."  
  
"Yeah, we didn't even get enough time for Brown to get us her address. Looks like we follow her." Simon turned the key, firing the engine to life.  
  
But the woman didn't walk far. She stopped at the nearest corner and waited under the bus sign. Ten minutes later, a Cascade Metro bus approached and she was inside. Simon pulled out from the curb and followed. It was a lot easier to follow a slow moving bus than some of the chases he'd experienced while riding with Jim. Blair carefully watched at each bus stop, making sure the woman wasn't getting off.   
  
"We've got to be reaching the end of the line soon, we're outside the city limits," Simon said.  
  
Sure enough, at the next stop she got off.   
  
The road was narrow, two lanes without shoulders. Simon kept back, having pulled off at a wide spot that looked like a rural school bus stop. A rundown wooden shelter for kids used to keep dry in while waiting for the school bus stood alongside the roadway. Cindy never even looked their way, which was good. Following a person on foot in the countryside was not easy.   
  
The rain was slacking off, going into a light mist again. She walked along the road a few feet, then crossed over to a rusty looking bike leaning against a section of fencing that surrounded a pasture filled with grazing dairy cows. After twisting the hem of her broomstick skirt into a knot, she straddled the bike and was off. Blair had the crazy urge to hum the song from the children's classic 'The Wizard of Oz.'. The one they played at the beginning where the witch was riding the bike on her way to take Toto.  
  
"Well, you certainly can't accuse her of adding to the pollution problem," Simon said dryly as he slowly followed at a safe distance.  
  
She rode the bike for miles, taking them deeper into farm country with rolling pastures. Small white houses sat at the end of long dirt driveways. Each house had acres and acres of farmland around them. This was not a community where a family argument would likely be overheard by the adjacent neighbors. Finally she turned off the road and pedaled up a dirt driveway in obvious disuse with knee high weeds growing down the middle.  
  
Blair leaned forward, gripping the dash with his good hand, his eyes searching the farm she was heading toward. The house was small, less than a thousand square feet. Large, overgrown bushes nearly obscured it from the road. The roof was visible. Blair wondered how the old house managed to keep the heavy moss that covered the ancient tar shingles from caving it in.   
  
"No cars, I wonder if she lives alone," Simon said quietly as he drove by the farm. "We'll have to find a place out of sight to hide the car and come back on foot."  
  
"Drop me off, I don't want to lose sight of her," Blair suggested quickly, his hand crossing over to reach the door handle.  
  
Simon snagged his good arm. "No. We'll go back together, Blair."  
  
"Simon…"  
  
"No! Or I'm cuffing you to the steering wheel and going alone." They were past the farm and Simon singlehandedly turned the car at the next intersection and pulled over. "Maybe I should do that anyway."  
  
Blair went perfectly still, holding his breath.   
  
Simon released his arm and manipulated the car into park.   
  
"I'll stick with you, Simon. I swear, man. Let me come," Blair pleaded.  
  
Shaking his dark head and rolling his eyes towards the roof of the car, Simon relented. "Okay, I should have my head examined, but you can come. I'm holding you to your promise, Sandburg. You do what I say, got it?"  
  
"Right, right," Blair clawed for the door handle as he did his best to return Simon's glare with one of sincerity.   
  
They backtracked towards the dilapidated farmhouse on foot through the falling mist. Traffic was nonexistent on the road and they reached the driveway without being observed.   
  
"Okay, we go up. Look around," Simon explained in a no-nonsense tone. "We've got no probable cause to be on private property. All we need are trespassing charges. My main concern is finding Jim."  
  
"Right, I'm with you totally on that point, Simon," Blair assured him.  
  
The farmhouse looked quiet, no evidence of anyone moving around. Several long outbuildings sat behind the residence, looking like a place where chickens might be kept. More buildings were scattered around, some large enough to hide a truck. They stayed low, using overgrown hedges and bushes as much as possible. Blair found himself wondering if the place had dogs. Surely a dog would have announced heir presence by now.   
  
This sort of thing was much easier when you had a sentinel at your side.   
  
"Okay," Simon whispered, pulling Blair down to join him behind a large rhododendron bush. "I'm thinking we check the barns and sheds first."  
  
"Simon, if we split up, we'll be faster," Blair suggested.  
  
"I don't like it, too risky."  
  
"We'll be faster."  
  
"If she's our killer, she has a gun, remember?"  
  
"But she probably isn't carrying it, man." Blair peered over the brush, the house was still quiet.   
  
Simon apparently could see the logic, but he still didn't look happy. "Fine, we split up. But you watch your back, you hear me? See that far chicken coop? Meet me there in fifteen minutes. Hopefully, one of us will have seen something. I'll go right. You go left."  
  
Blair nodded. "See you in fifteen." Blair was off before Simon remembered he never wore a watch. He kept low, running towards the large barn that Simon had given him to search. He kept one eye on the house, half expecting the woman to walk out the back door and spot him. But he made it unobserved.  
  
The side door was open and he slipped inside. The rain dripped down from above, through large gaps in the roof where wind had removed shingles. The floor was littered with straw, scraps of twine and empty feed sacks. No animals lived inside anymore. At one time the place must have been a working farm, but that was no longer. He'd seen a decent sized garden in the back field; maybe Cindy raised her own food. Blair poked around a broken down tractor and rusted out farming tools. It was obvious Jim wasn't anywhere to be found. It was time to move on to the next building.  
  
The next outbuilding wasn't as large. Hidden from the road by the barn, Blair almost missed it except he happened to look down at the ground and noticed the tire tracks. They looked fresh. The tread had sunk into the dirt about an inch and was filled with standing rainwater. Blair was not exactly an expert on the subject, but they looked like tracks made by a truck. Besides, Cindy took the bus and rode a bike to work. She obviously didn't have a truck or a car. But Jim did.  
  
He followed the tracks and saw the distant building. It looked newer than the barn. The tracks ended in front of a wide, pull down locked door, like the type found on garages. A smaller locked door was off to one side. He quickly walked the perimeter and found no other way inside. It must be close to fifteen minutes by now, he needed to get Simon and bring him back. Something told him Jim was inside.  
  
As he headed in the general direction of the prearranged meet site, he heard a door slamming shut. The noise came from the main house. Blair doubled back towards the locked building and hid around the far corner, out of sight. A few seconds later, Cindy appeared. Dressed in old jeans and a mustard colored parka, she walked towards the door, unlocked it with a key and went inside. The door closed behind her.   
  
Blair left the safety of his hiding place, edging towards the door. Maybe he'd get lucky and hear something that might tell him if Jim was inside. He reached the door. Pressing an ear against the rough, unpainted surface of the wood, he could hear Cindy inside.  
  
"…Awake. I knew you'd come back to me. We were meant for each other."  
  
Blair couldn't hear anyone answer. She was either talking to herself, or the person with her couldn't reply.  
  
Jim had to be inside. Where was Simon? As much as he hated the thought of leaving, he needed to go find him and bring him back here. Just as Blair turned to leave, the door opened up and he was face to face with Cindy.  
  
Shit.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she exclaimed in surprise.  
  
"Ah…" Blair felt like an idiot. For the life of him, he couldn't think up a convincing lie. She stepped out and closed the door behind her, cutting off his chance to see anything of importance. Standing this close, he realized the woman couldn't be called fragile. Years of riding a bike and living on this farm kept her strong and in shape.   
  
But she didn't need muscles, Blair realized too late when she pulled a small gun from her pocket, her lips pulled back in an ugly sneer as she pointed it at him. "You won't take him again. I won't allow it. We were destined to be together!"  
  
Where the hell was Simon? Blair slowly raised his left hand, keeping his movements as non-threatening as he knew how. The gun didn't look very big, but he was willing to bet the hole it made in his body would still hurt. He needed to say something before the woman shot him.  
  
"Cindy, it's me, Blair. I was looking for you."   
  
"Why?" Her eyes narrowed.  
  
Good question, Blair realized. Too bad he didn't have an answer. It was obvious this woman in front of him was living in her own reality. Maybe he could use her insanity to his advantage.   
  
"It's about Father Nathan, about his skeleton in the wall. We know how that happened. I thought you would like to know so I came out here to tell you."  
  
Some of the tension in her shoulders eased and she glance briefly back at the door. "I came back, after we'd argued. He was… gone, missing." Her vague expression hardened again and she looked back at Blair. "That doesn't matter anymore."  
  
"It doesn't?" Blair tried to sound sincere. "But I thought you cared about Father Nathan."  
  
"I do!" she insisted.   
  
"Then I don't understand," Blair said. "I want to understand, Cindy. Give me the gun and we can talk."  
  
For a minute, Blair thought she was going to do it. She bit her lip with an assessing look, then shook her head. "I don't think so, Blair. I think he sent you here to take Nathan away from me, like before."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Satan! You're from the Prince of Darkness." She raised the gun, pointing it directly at his face.  
  
Nothing like seeing your own death pointed at you. Blair pushed down the choking feeling of terror and managed to keep calm. "No! That's not true. I can prove it. Nathan's a man of God, right? Take me to him. He'll know me! I swear! He's inside, right? Let me go in. You can keep the gun."  
  
Miraculously, her trigger finger didn't tighten. Blair felt weak with relief as she nodded, opened the door with her left hand and stepped back through the doorway. "Okay, come in. But don't try anything."  
  
Blair was eager to get inside, praying he'd see Jim, even under the threat of a gun. He searched the large room, spotting the mattress in the far corner.  
  
"Jim!" Forgetting the women, Blair sprinted across the room to drop to his knees beside his partner. "Oh, man! Are you okay?" he asked as he pulled the gag from his friend's mouth.  
  
"Chief…" Jim groaned in despair. "Tell me you didn't just walk in here when she has a gun." He was on his side, his face, and exposed arms were covered with angry looking red splotches. He peered sideways up at Blair from under puffy eyelids.   
  
Blair's hand hesitated for a second, unsure if any place on his friend was safe to touch. "Shit, man. What happened to you? What did this?"  
  
"Don't know… itches and burns like hell." Jim dropped his head back on the dirty mattress.   
  
Blair spun on his haunches to level the secretary with a furious scowl. "What did you put on him?"  
  
Cindy looked truly puzzled. She shook her head slowly from side to side. "N-nothing. But don't you see? That's not your friend Jim anymore. That's not his skin! Father Nathan is inside, I saw him when I looked into his eyes."  
  
"No." Blair stood slowly to stand in front of his friend. "This is Jim Ellison. Father Nathan is dead, remember? He was shot in the head."  
  
"Blair, careful," Jim murmured from behind him.  
  
Cindy raised her gun. "SEE! I knew you'd try this! It is Nathan! God brought him back to me!" she screamed. "I'll prove it."  
  
To Blair's horror, she pulled a large carving knife out of her back pocket. "I was going to wait till tonight, but I'll prove it to you. See his skin? See that rash? God is showing me that Nathan is inside. I'm going to cut the bad skin away. Nathan will be underneath."  
  
Blair's stomach twisted. "No! You can't! Cindy, you'll kill him!"  
  
------------------  
  
As bad as his skin hurt, Jim almost welcomed the idea of getting rid of it. But he didn't have time to worry about that right now, his lunatic-for-a-friend was facing a madwoman holding a gun and a knife.   
  
How the hell had Blair found him? And where was Simon? Surely the captain knew better than to let Blair out on his own. Reano was still out there somewhere.  
  
Extending his hearing, Jim picked up footsteps splashing in mud. Someone else was walking around. Maybe that was Simon. Blair needed to stall the woman until help could arrive. Actually, he was doing a pretty decent job of just that.  
  
"Cindy, listen to me. I know you're confused right now, but hurting Jim is not going to bring you any closer to Father Nathan," Blair insisted.  
  
"Blair, move away. I'll show you what I'm talking about."  
  
"No! No, I'm going to explain about the rash on Jim. He's very, very sensitive to things. Did you cover him with anything? Something that may have been used around harsh chemicals or cleaners?" Blair was sounding so casual and sure of himself, Jim wasn't surprised to see Cindy tilt her head as if in thought.   
  
"I didn't… but I used my yard-cart to bring him inside," she replied.  
  
"A yard-cart? Like for gardening, right?" Blair nodded his head as he spoke. "That's it then. Do you use it to transport fertilizer or something?"  
  
Jim wrinkled his nose. Great, he was breaking out from chicken shit.  
  
"Ah… bags of lime. I moved them with the cart last week."  
  
"See? That's what did it." Blair was moving closer to the woman as he talked. She seemed almost unaware of his proximity.  
  
Crap, Blair was going to make a play for the gun. Jim could tell by the way his friend's back and arm muscles were becoming tense, as if ready to jump. He wanted to shout out, tell him not to do it. Simon's footsteps were close now. Jim could even smell the faint aroma from the man's cigars.  
  
Just as Jim opened his mouth to shout, Blair made his move. The sharp crack of the woman's handgun caused Jim to flinch. He heard Blair's grunt of surprise.  
  
"Simon! We're in here, hurry!" Jim shouted as loud as he could, twisting on the mattress to try and sit up.   
  
Jim was helpless, held in place by a rope that anchored him. Blair had fallen to his knees, his left hand maintaining a strong grip on the woman's right arm. The gun fired a second time, the bullet passing through the wall above Jim's head. But Blair held firm.   
  
Cindy raised her left arm, the knife pointed down at her attacker.   
  
"No!" Jim yelled.  
  
She swung hard.  
  
Instinctively, Blair used the only shield he had available. The long blade struck Blair's right arm, biting deeply into the cast. As Jim watched, she raised it a second time, aiming at his friend's throat. It appeared all Blair's strength was being used to keep the gun pointed high, away from Jim. No way would Blair be able to protect himself from the blade's second swing.  
  
"Freeze! Cascade Police!" Simon Banks' large frame filled the open doorway, his service gun pointed and ready. He reached out with his left hand and deftly twisted the knife out of the woman's hand as she raised it high over her own head.  
  
With a screech of outrage, she turned toward the newcomer. Simon must have recognized the insanity on her face, because he transferred his gun to his left hand and balled up his right hand into a fist. With Blair still holding on, Simon pulled back his arm and delivered a strong punch directly into the woman's jaw, dropping her into the dirt.  
  
"Simon!" Jim yelled from across the room as he watched Blair go down. "Blair's been shot!"  
  
"Damn," Simon exclaimed. Kicking the woman's gun away, he pulled her a few feet away and cuffed her before returning to where Blair lay still on the dirt floor. "Sandburg!"  
  
It was beyond frustrating to be forced to sit on the sidelines. Jim needed to be the one to assess his partner's condition, but he didn't dare say anything that would distract Simon from doing it for him. He sniffed the air, not able to pick up any scent of blood.  
  
"Simon! How bad is it?" Jim asked tersely.  
  
"Blair?" Simon carefully rolled the younger man onto his back.  
  
Jim could see Blair's face scrunched up in pain. He bent his right leg, raising his knee off the dirt and rocking it side to side. He held his cast with his left arm. The knife, Jim remembered, did it damage the cast? Hell, he didn't care about that. Where had that first bullet struck his friend?   
  
"Simon?"  
  
"I am checking, Jim," Simon muttered darkly. "Give me a chance here. Blair? Open your eyes and talk to me, kid."  
  
Blair responded, even managing a weak smile around pain tightened lips. "Owww….. I can't… believe this."  
  
"What?" Simon demanded, his large hands skimming over the downed man, looking for the injury.  
  
"She shot my cast, man. It's broken… again!"  
  
Simon looked up. "He's right, Jim. There's a hole through his cast." He looked down at Blair again. "Did the bullet hit your arm?"  
  
"Noooo," Blair groaned, then gasped. "Shit, Simon! We gotta get that lime off Jim! He's having a reaction!"  
  
Jim snorted, falling limply back onto the mattress. God, he was getting too old for this.  
  
-------------------  
  
"How are you feeling, Jim?" Simon asked as he passed over a Styrofoam cup filled with black coffee. "What did the doctor say about your head?"  
  
Jim accepted the gift with a slight shrug. He'd been cold cocked by Cindy yesterday when he'd given her a ride. He never did see what she had used; it felt like a tire iron. The hospital had already treated his rash. His skin still hurt, but thanks to Blair's help, he'd managed to force the pain to the back of his mind. "I'm okay. Nice concussion. Got the usual warnings. The staff was a little curious about my reaction to that lime residue, though. Any problems at the station?"  
  
"She ranted the whole time during her booking about reincarnated priests and demons. She blurted out everything, even after I reread her rights. No one even asked about my probable cause to go onto her property. She's going to get a one-way ticket to the psych ward. Oh, and we found the stuff from Father Nathan's apartment at the farm." Simon took an empty seat next to Jim and made himself comfortable. He eyed the hallway leading towards the exam room Blair was currently in. "How's the kid? I can't believe the bullet passed through his cast without hitting him. Sandburg should buy a Lotto ticket with that kind of luck."  
  
Jim huffed softly and tilted his head as he listened. "He's got the same doctor as before. She's offering him a punch card. Six more visits for a new cast and the tenth one's free."  
  
"Gotta love a woman with a sense of humor."  
  
Jim laughed softly. "Is it okay if I just take him home? We'll come in tomorrow and give our statements."  
  
"And write your report?" Simon asked with a raised eyebrow. "Try not to start this one with something along the lines of, 'No shit, this is what happened to me.'"  
  
"Actually, I was thinking of 'Once upon a time,'" Jim replied before taking a sip of coffee. He grimaced as the petroleum taste from the cup hit the back of his throat.  
  
"Isn't that the truth? This case is definitely the stuff fairy tales are made of." Simon scrubbed his face with one hand. "Cindy told us she and the victim had an argument. The gun went off accidentally when he tried to take it from her. At least Reano's daughter and her boyfriend have a new life now. I wonder if she's going to call her father. Frankly, I'm surprised Blair kept his promise to Ethan Reano."  
  
Jim nearly dropped his coffee. "What!"  
  
"Oh, that's right, you don't know that part, do you?" Simon grinned.   
  
Blair walked out of the exam room on wobbly legs, sporting a fresh white cast.   
  
"I think I'll let Sandburg tell you this one," Simon added in a low whisper.  
  
"Hey, Simon," Blair greeted him, eyelids at half mast. "Jim, how's the rash?"  
  
Jim carefully tossed the coffee into a convenient trash can and snagged his roommate's good elbow. "Fine, Chief. The rash is fine. Let's get back to the loft. I'm anxious to hear about your adventures while I was at the farm."  
  
Blair shot Simon a wide-eyed look. "My adventures?"  
  
"Yeah," Jim drawled, tightening his hold. "You had a little chat with Ethan Reano?"  
  
"You remember," Simon chortled as he walked along. "After you ditched me?"  
  
"You ditched Simon?" Jim asked incredulously.  
  
"After I made it clear he was to stay with me or get locked up in a holding cell," Simon added happily. "He agreed to stay with me, then he ditched me."   
  
Blair swallowed hard as he was propelled down the hallway and out into the late afternoon rain. "Guys? Can't we just appreciate that everything turned out okay here? Why dwell on the inconsequential stuff?"  
  
Jim smiled his best shark smile, enjoying the way it made Blair's eyes widen even farther. "I insist, Sandburg. I really want to hear all those inconsequential details."  
  
----------------  
  
The sun broke through the clouds an hour before Father Nathan's funeral. The stately church was packed with mourners. Father Clark spoke of the celebration that took place in heaven as God greeted their priest with open arms.   
  
Blair listened to the strangers sitting nearby crying softly. A wave of sadness rolled over him, causing him to fumble clumsily for a tissue. He knew he'd slipped one into his sling, where did it go?  
  
Jim handed over a clean handkerchief.  
  
"Thanks." Blair tried to discreetly press the cloth to his eyes, hoping Simon wasn't noticing. The man was going to think he did nothing but cry. Why he had insisted on sitting next to Blair instead of being next to Jim was beyond him. It wasn't like he planned on ditching them anytime soon.  
  
He'd ended up swearing to Jim never to do that again. Nothing was worth sitting through another tongue lashing from his roommate. When they'd finally returned home to the loft from the hospital, Blair had just wanted to crash. He'd been so exhausted and high on pain killers, nothing short of a coma would do. But Jim hadn't even let him take one step into his room, insisting on hearing the entire story about Reano and that little 'misunderstanding.'   
  
Jim's response had been nothing short of nuclear. By the time he had finished voicing his unhappiness over Blair's apparent lack of discretion, Blair had been tempted to check for missing chunks of flesh in his ass. On the plus side, Jim had added a couple of new cuss words to Blair's repertoire.   
  
That had been two days ago and Jim was still sticking to his side like glue. After giving it some consideration, Blair realized he had a choice. He could fight Jim or take a page from his mother's book and just go with the flow, for now. Jim was probably just dealing with his own demons. After all, he'd been kidnapped, knocked out and tied up, then almost skinned alive by a woman in love with a dead man.   
  
Wow, was that twisted or what?  
  
With a start, Blair snapped out of his thoughts as Jim and Simon rose to their feet. Reaching out for the pew in front of him, Blair pulled himself up to join them. The service was over.  
  
"Let's wait a bit for the crowd to thin out," Jim suggested as the music played and the attendees filed towards the exits. They sat back down again.  
  
After a few moments, Father Clark walked down from the front, stopping every once in a while to shake a hand or share a brief word with his parishioners. Finally, he arrived at Simon's side and nodded his head at the three friends.   
  
"I'm glad to see you all made it. Jim, you're looking better."   
  
"Thanks, I feel pretty good," Jim admitted. "Nice service."  
  
"Thank you. Father Nathan will be laid to rest on holy ground where he belongs." He offered a sad smile and nodded his head. "There's someone in my office who wanted to speak with Mr. Sandburg. If that's okay."  
  
"Who?" both Simon and Jim asked at the same time.  
  
Blair rolled his eyes. "Guys? I am sitting right here, you know." He looked expectantly at the priest.  
  
"Ah… Ethan Reano asked to speak with you, alone."  
  
"No," Jim said flatly.  
  
"Absolutely not," Simon added.  
  
"Sure," Blair said. "Would you tell him I'll be there in a second?" He waited until the priest was gone before addressing his self-appointed bookend body guards. "Okay, you two…"  
  
"No way in hell are you going back to meet with an organized crime boss alone," Jim hissed in a low voice.  
  
"I agree," Simon added unnecessarily, as if Blair couldn't tell by the scowl on the man's face.  
  
"Glad to hear it, gentlemen. 'Cuz I've got news for both of you. I'm going back," Blair said calmly. "Jim, you listen in, I've got no problem with that. But I am going to speak with the man and hear what he has to say. Otherwise, none of us will have any peace. And, I for one, am sick of looking over my shoulder waiting for the return of the goon squad." Blair stood, waiting patiently for Simon to move out of his way.  
  
"I don't like this," Jim protested.  
  
"Look, consider this sacred ground, okay?" Blair said, standing and turning around to lean against the back of the front pew as he addressed the two seated cops. "The guy's not going to try anything at his own church. Besides, I'm sure he's alone. Father Clark would have mentioned otherwise. And, you can wait outside the office, Jim."  
  
"For crying out loud, Sandburg. This is real life, not an episode from Highlander," Simon muttered, but stood to let Blair pass.  
  
When they reached Cindy's empty desk, Blair paused to wipe his palm on his good pants. Sure, he was all bravado and tough talk back in the sanctuary, so where did his courage go?   
  
"You sure?" Jim asked, bending down to whisper in Blair's ear.  
  
Blair nodded, feeling reassured just by Jim's physical presence. He raised his left hand and knocked on Father Clark's door. The man himself opened it and stepped out. Blair could see Ethan Reano sitting inside, alone.  
  
"Just say the word and I'll be there," Jim whispered.  
  
"I know, Jim. Thanks," Blair whispered back, then entered the office and closed the door.  
  
"Mr. Sandburg." Reano stood. "Thanks for meeting with me. I have a feeling Detective Ellison was not very pleased with the idea."  
  
"He'll be fine. What did you want to talk to me about?"  
  
Reano's face transformed from mafia boss to that of a pensive old man. "Ah… I heard from my daughter. She said… she thought I…" He took a deep breath. "Anyway, she said you believed I was innocent of Father Nathan's murder. I just wanted to say thanks."  
  
"You're welcome." Blair stuck his left hand into his pocket and tilted his head. "So, can Jim and I stop worrying about visits from strangers carrying black hoods?"  
  
Reano blushed and nodded his head.  
  
"Even if she never comes back?" Blair pressed.  
  
He nodded again.  
  
"Good, because if I have to come out to your place again, I won't be so easy on you the next time," Blair promised somberly, ignoring the loud snort coming from the other side of the closed door.  
  
Reano looked surprised and chuckled. "I understand, Mr. Sandburg. You know, of the two, I think you could do more damage to me than Ellison."  
  
"Count on it," Blair promised.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
"So, Mr. Blair 'The Terminator' Sandburg," Jim said with a chuckle from the front passenger seat of Simon's car, "you're the dangerous one of our team?"  
  
Blair laughed. He dropped his voice several octaves and faked an accent. "A'll be back."  
  
"You get my vote for the most accident prone," Simon said when the laughter subsided.  
  
"That reminds me!" Jim turned in his seat to pen Blair with an inquiring look. "How did you originally break your arm?"  
  
"Oh… that." Blair shifted in his seat, fussing with his sling.   
  
"Yeah, quick, tell me before another murder victim pops up," Jim joked as he watched Blair's blush creep up from his neck. This was so much fun. They should make guppy teasing a spectator sport.  
  
"I was in my office…"  
  
"Don't drag it out, Sandburg. The cell phone will ring or something," Jim told him.  
  
"That's what I'm hoping for, man," Blair muttered.   
  
"Spill," Simon growled, glancing back through the rearview mirror.  
  
Blair took a deep breath and talked. "The light bulb was burned out, so I stood on a chair to replace it. Only I forgot I was on the chair when I finished. I was really, really busy with that paper I was trying to rewrite. Anyway, I kinda stepped off the chair and into space…"  
  
Jim flinched. "Ow, that would do it."  
  
"Yeah, believe me. It did."  
  
End. 


End file.
